


Tethered

by thestoryinsideme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Castiel, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Dream Sex, Dreamwalking, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Pining Dean, Romance, canon compliant through 10.9, dean/cas - Freeform, dream walking, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestoryinsideme/pseuds/thestoryinsideme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel disappears without a trace, along with the Mark of Cain and twenty-four hours of Dean's life, Dean seeks out the help of the only other righteous angel he knows – Hannah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Libraries

Dean turns his head from side to side, checks both ways before he slides his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a candy bar. From across the table, Sam glares at him as he peels away the wrapper and bites off a chunk.

“What?”  Bits of chocolate shoot from his mouth and land on the book that lies open in front of him.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out of here, Dean. You read the sign. No food.”

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves the rest of the bar into his mouth.  He hates libraries, with all of their rules, and books, and whatnot.  He didn’t always feel that way, but since Castiel went missing, he and Sam have spent the last six months in libraries, and still, nothing.

“Are you sure she said ‘library’?” Sam at least waits until Dean is done chewing.

Dean exhales loudly, accompanied by an exaggerated lip pucker.  Sam asks this question every time, and every time, the answer is the same.

“Yes, Sam.  She said library.  She said to look in the library.”

When Castiel vanished, Dean decided to try praying to another angel, one he knew was in Heaven.  Castiel’s lieutenant-cum-buddy, Hannah.  He asked for her assistance in finding Castiel, and that same night, she helped herself to his unconscious by showing up in his dream.  Normally, he wouldn’t have minded much; her former human body gave off a sort of hot-teacher vibe.  But on that particular night, he happened to be dreaming about Castiel.

“Jesus Christ!”  Dean sprang up from the dream bed, flustered.  He’d forgotten about this angel dream walking crap and how goddamned disconcerting it was.  When Castiel had the juice to do it, he was at least courteous about it, only popping up in Dean’s dreams one time, when it was absolutely necessary.

Dean had had the same dream before, or at least some version of it.  They weren’t naked, hadn’t quite gotten there yet, and weren’t going to now, thanks to Hannah’s excellent angelic timing.

“Oh my goodness!”  She gasped and threw her hands up over the image of her earthly vessel’s eyes. 

“Cool your jets, Mary Poppins.  It’s just a dream.”  Fan-fucking-tastic.  Hannah didn’t like Dean from the get-go.  In fact, it was kind of a mutual thing.  But this sure as hell wasn’t going to make things any better. “It’s not real. And it never has been.” He felt a pang of regret about that last part, and to his dismay, dream Castiel disappeared. “Great.  Now look what you’ve done.”

“Human things,” Hannah muttered, as if reassuring herself, then glanced quickly around the conjured motel room.  “I shouldn’t be here.” 

“Then tell me where Cas is and be on your way.”

“How can you be sure that he’s even alive?”

“Oh, he’s alive.” Dean did believe that, although he couldn’t explain why because he didn’t really know if it was true. “I know that much,” he said with certainty as a bluff, an attempt to trick Hannah into saying something, one way or the other, that might resolve the issue.  It worked.

“Yes,” she confirmed reluctantly.  “But I don’t know where he is.  And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”

Dean swallowed his relief and continued to work on her. “He’d want you to tell me.”

She twisted her imaginary human mouth.

“You know he would, Hannah,” Dean coaxed. “You were the only angel he truly trusted.  And he’d trust you to do the right thing.  He’d trust you to help me.”

“Why do you want to find him?”  She asked, hands on hips.

Dean raised his eyebrows.  “I thought that might be obvious.”  He smirked, looked around for his t-shirt, and when he spotted it hanging over the lamp on the bedside table, he pulled it over his head and leaned back against the headboard.

“You want to find him because you have a carnal interest in him?”

“No!”  Dean shook his head.  Exactly what his “interest” in Castiel is was something he hadn’t quite sorted out on a conscious level.  This was only a dream, a fantasy, and he knew that it didn’t really mean anything. He dreamed about sex on a regular basis, and Castiel was only one of a number of lucky guest stars.  “Look, we’ve worked together for a long time.  We’ve had each other’s backs for years,” Dean tried to explain.   “Cas and I, we have…history.  We’re friends.”

“Friends?” 

At that moment, Hannah grabbed her head with both hands, as if she felt a sudden pain.  “Library,” she managed through gritted teeth.  “Look in the library…”

And then Dean woke up. 

The next morning, at Sam’s insistence, Dean recounted the entire dream with him.  Except the part about the motel room.  And the part about Castiel being there.  He left those parts out.

“It’s been six months and nothing.” Sam closes the encyclopedia he had spread on the library table and taps his fingers on the hard cover.  “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe she meant something else?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, let’s think about it. What other things do you do in a library?  Besides research?”

“Well, not eating,” Dean huffs.

“Dean…”

“It’s a dumb rule.”

“I think it has to do with insects.”

“What?”

“The food rule.  Food attracts insects.  Insects damage the books.”

Dean folds his arms across his chest, frustrated. Sam is so easily distracted.

“Okay, okay,” Sam says.  “What else?”

“You can check out a book, make out, read a newspaper…”

Sam holds up a hand.  “Wait, go back.”

“Read a newspaper?”

“No.  Make out?”

“Yeah,”  Dean grins.  “Remember when you were a kid and I used to take you to the library, wherever we happened to be? I met a lot of girls in those libraries, Sammy.”

“Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe what’s it?”

“Maybe the answer to where Cas is isn’t _found_ in the library. Maybe the answer _is_ the library.”

“I’m not following you.”

“What if she was trying to tell you that Cas is, like, actually _in_ a library.”

Dean pulls his head back.  “What library?”

“I don’t know.  I guess that’s what we have to figure out.”

"Sonofabitch!" Dean blurts out much too loudly, which earns him a collective "shh" from several readers and a finger wag from the man stationed behind the desk.

As soon as Sam says it, Dean knows he is right. They’ve been wasting time, looking for some sort of angel lore in every nearby library once they'd exhausted the resources in the bunker library. They’ve been searching for anything that would give them a clue of where to find the missing angel, when they had the answer this whole time.  Castiel is in a library.  And they are going to find him.

______________________________

 

They are never going to find him.  It is nearly impossible.  There are as many public libraries as there are cities and towns, even more when you include private school libraries. And that’s in the U.S. alone. For all Dean knows, he could be in some library on the other side of the planet.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Sam closes his laptop, shaking his head.  “We need more information.”

“Yeah, well we don’t have more information.” Dean sighs and stands up, pushing his sandwich aside.  He begins to pace around the map room. 

“You could, I guess, try praying to Hannah again.”

Dean stops and glares at his brother before responding. “Dude, you don’t think I’ve been doing that every single night?  She’s not answering.”

Sam nods slightly, taps his pencil on the table.  “Maybe something’s going on in heaven. Maybe she can’t answer.”

“Or maybe she’s just another dick angel who doesn’t want to help us.”

"I don't think so, Dean.  She told you about the library."

"And a lot of help that's been," Dean snarls.  "For all we know, that was something she made up to put us on the wrong track until we finally give up and stop looking for him altogether."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"  Sam asks calmly.  "Why would she do that?"

Dean sighs, annoyed.  He recalls Hannah's reaction when she kept him from rounding second base with dream Castiel.  "I don't know Sam.  I can't explain why those douchebags do anything."

"Yeah, I get that, Dean.  But think about it.  She told you he was alive.  If she was trying to keep us from looking for him, she could've told you he was dead."

Good point.  Dean drops his hands to his hips to think about that.  

Sam yawns then stands, pats Dean on the shoulder.  “We’ll find him. Let’s sleep on it, get a good breakfast and a fresh start in the morning.  Sound good?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean agrees.  He tosses what was left of his sandwich in the kitchen trash before going to his own room.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says quietly, leaning over himself while he sits at the edge of his bed. There's no one around to hear him, but still.  “I’m gonna guess that you’re not getting these, but I don't know, maybe you are and…"  He rubs his hands on his thighs then claps them together.  "Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t answer.”  He rests his forehead against the fingertips of his joined hands.  “But listen, if that’s the case, if you’ve got important angel shit to do and you can’t… or don’t _want_ to be, you know, hanging out with the hairless apes, I get it. I do.  You're some kind of heavenly all-star now.  But… let me know, man.  Or send Hannah, and she can tell us, right Hannah?  I think she’d be more than happy to give us that news.  She can even come visit my dreams again.  I promise, Hannah, this time I’ll be fishing or something. It's just...” Dean pauses, rubs his face with his hands.  “I’ve gotta know, Cas.  Just please, let me know.”

Dean lies down on his bed.  He closes his eyes and thinks of the lake, the dock where he sits with his fishing pole and drinks his favorite beer. He imagines the weather is clear but slightly cool, that there is no breeze and the water is still. He maps out details in his mind; the line, the bait, the cooler beside the chair, tries to force the promised dream, just in case his prayer was heard and Hannah drops in during the night. His mind wanders as he drifts into sleep, but that's okay. As long as he doesn't think about Castiel, or sex, or sex with Castiel, everything will be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://thestoryinsideme.tumblr.com//) here!


	2. Reminders

He is fishing off the end of a familiar dock. It is cool, but there is no breeze and the water is still.  He baits the hook the old-fashioned way; with an earthworm, the way Bobby taught him. Works every time. With a flick of his wrist, the line is in the water.  He leans back in the chair, and before he gets the chance to reach down and grab a beer for himself, a cold, dewy wet bottle is thrust into his hand.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looks up at Castiel, who stands beside him.   “Where are you, Cas?” he asks.

“I’m here.  With you.”  Castiel slips off his trenchcoat, then his suit jacket.

Dean nods.  “But are you here here?  Or are you part of my dream?”

Castiel grins, begins to unbutton his white shirt. “What’s the difference, Dean?”

Dean doesn’t know the answer, but he thinks that he probably should.  He drops his beer and releases his grip on the fishing pole in favor of working Castiel’s belt loose.  As soon as the buckle is taken care of, he stands up and kicks the chair into the water.  He places one hand behind Castiel’s neck, yanks him into a kiss while the other hand unbuttons, then unzips Castiel’s slacks. 

Dean’s hand winds it’s way into Castiel’s boxers, closes around him and pulls.  He’s not very gentle, he never has to be with dream Castiel.  His loose fist glides up, twists, then slides back down again.  He repeats the motion, over and over, slowly at first, then faster, but always very smoothly, always with just the right amount of friction, because in Dean's dreams, they are perfect this way. They don't speak, that’s not why Castiel is there, and for Dean, it is easier without words, without thought.

Castiel makes a noise, something between a groan and a sigh.  It's a sound that is his alone, a sound that Dean has only heard in dreams, and it makes his groin tingle, tighten with arousal, because he knows what happens next, what always follows that sound.  It is Dean's favorite part, watching dream Castiel’s eyes squeeze shut as his breathing shallows and his head lolls.  Dean hastens his pace, wants to hear Castiel make that glorious sound at least one more time before Castiel finishes and Dean wakes.

“Oh!  Good gracious!”

Hannah appears next to Castiel, one hand over her eyes. “Dean Winchester. You promised me—“

“I know, I know.”  Dean stops, releases Castiel, and the moment he does, dream Castiel is gone, and Dean is left empty-handed on the dock with Hannah.

“The coast is clear, Mother Teresa.” Dean is embarrassed, certainly, for reasons that are obvious and for some that may be not so obvious, but it's tempered by the pleasure he takes in Hannah’s discomfort.

Hannah drops her hands and crosses her arms. “You said you would be fishing. That was not fishing. If I’m not mistaken, that was—“

"And I  _was_  fishing.“  He cuts her off with a wave of his hand before words come out of her angelic mouth that might scar him for life.  "I tried not to think about, uh, sex, but I guess it’s like trying not to think about the pink elephant in the room.”  He’s not sure he got that exactly right.  “Or something like that.”

“Are you using human metaphors?  Because I don’t understand those.” Hannah pushes her brows together, cants her head to one side like Castiel does, and he knows it's petty, but it bothers him. 

“Did Cas send you?” Dean asks, tries to focus. “Where is he?  What’s he doing? What did he say?”

She lowers her eyes.  “No, I’m sorry.  I haven’t seen Castiel.  As I told you, I don’t know where he is.”

“Then how did you…?  Were you eavesdropping on my prayer to Cas?”

“Of course not!”  She says, offended.  “You called to me in your prayer.  I heard it.”

“Well funny you should hear only that one because I’ve been praying to you every night.”

“Oh, I’ve heard them all.”  Her tone is pragmatic, but sincere. “I had no answers for you.”

“Well that’s just—hold on!  Does that mean you have answers  _now_?”

"Information."  She looks around, uncomfortable again, but in a different way than before.  “I shouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t like it at all.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“The Council.”

“The Council?  You mean like in Heaven?  There’s a Council now?  In Heaven?”

She doesn’t respond.  Instead she scrunches her face, shakes her head. “I have to go.”

“Wait.  Tell me what you came to tell me.”

“I…I…”

“Hannah.  Tell me!”  Dean grabs onto both of her arms as if he can somehow keep her there, as if he has any control over an angel taking a walk through the nocturnal visions forged in his jaded mind.

“All I know is that he’s been placed in a geographical location on Earth with a … connection.”

“A connection?  To what?  Heaven?”

“No.”  She shakes her head.  “Castiel is not like the rest of us.  He’s made choices.  He’s done things, things that now tether him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s an angel with a wholly assimilated human body. He’s unique.  He's unpredictable.  There have been no others like him, and that’s all I know.  That’s all I…” She worries her bottom lip. “I’m sorry.  I have to go.”

Before he has time to assess what she has told him, she is gone.  He stands alone on the dock for another moment before he opens his eyes, lurches upright in his bed, and gasps out the name.

“Jimmy Novak!”

 ______________________________

 

Pontiac Illinois is not Dean’s favorite place. Last time they were here, Dean allowed the Mark of Cain to overpower him, to nearly consume him.  The result was a bloodbath in a small house in the middle of the city.  The Mark is gone now, and he believes that Castiel had everything to do with that, that his disappearance is inextricably related to whatever happened. But he can only speculate, because not only is Castiel missing, so is any memory of twenty-four exceptionally important hours of his life.

The last time Dean saw Castiel, he was with them in the bunker.  The three men were brainstorming, trying to come up with a way to cure Dean, to rid him of the curse he had, for not entirely noble reasons, taken on willingly as a means to an end.  The Mark was, in every way, quite literally damning him, and despite their best efforts, they had no viable ideas _._

When Sam left the room, Dean reminded Castiel of what he had asked him to do should things go south.  Castiel swept the books off of the table with disgust and declared that he was “going to end this once and for all.”  And then he left, via the bunker's front door because, like the other angels at the time, he couldn’t fly.

Dean had initially believed that Castiel was going to honor his request and put him down, put him out of everyone’s misery, including his own, but that didn’t happen.  Instead, when Dean next woke, the Mark was gone, and neither he nor Sam had any idea what happened to the Mark, or to the preceding twenty-four hours.  It was as if that time was erased from their minds. 

He figured right away that it was Castiel’s doing. There really was no other possible explanation, and once the Mark was gone, Dean was thankful that Castiel hadn't  done as he asked. He was grateful for whatever angel voodoo Castiel called upon to fix him.  And so, while he anxiously awaited the angel’s return, he contemplated ways in which he might make the measure of his gratitude clear to his friend.

He and Sam don’t spend long in Pontiac.  They make no detours, stick to the libraries in and around the small city, but they don’t find Castiel.

“If we're going to be checking out libraries, we should have a picture to show people," Sam says when they are on their way back to the bunker.  "Why do we have absolutely no pictures of Cas?” 

Dean just shrugs and concentrates on the road ahead of him. He doesn’t really feel like talking; he just wants to drive.  Between not finding Castiel and the inescapable reminder of what he did in Pontiac not long enough ago, Dean’s not in the mood for any heart-to-hearts.

“It’s not like we could flash his photo all over Pontiac.”

“Well, of course not.  Not there, but other places.”

“What other places?”

Sam sighs, then tries to reassure him. “We’ll find him, Dean.”

“Yeah.  You keep saying that.” 

He’s curt, borderline accusatory with his younger brother for no fair reason.  None of this is Sam’s fault.  But if what he wants deep down is to shut Sam up, it works, because Sam looks away from him and out the window.  Sam falls asleep after a while, and although Dean knows it would probably be a good idea to stop and get a motel, he drives on through the night to get back home. 

 ____________________________

 

_He is in a motel, but this motel is different.  It’s real, not some collaborative figment of all the places he and Sam have been over the years, as is usual in his dreams._

_He looks to his left and sees Castiel lying on the bed, asleep.  After Dean had wrapped his wrist with a compression bandage from the Impala’s fully-loaded first aid kit, he gave him a pill for the pain.  When they got to the room, Castiel had looked so longingly at the bed that Dean told him to lay down, that he would sleep in the chair.  Castiel protested, suggested that there was room for both of them on the double mattress._

_Castiel had been angry when Dean showed up, then he became stubborn, and finally, scared.  Human, Castiel was still shaken after the close call with the Rit Zien, so Dean, not wanting to cause any further distress, did as his friend asked. He situated himself upright on the bed beside Castiel, who then, finally, closed his eyes, and fell swiftly out of consciousness._

_Castiel flips from his back to side in his sleep.  Dean eases down the bed and lies on his opposite side, facing him. He watches him. He looks peaceful, relaxed. His chapped lips are slightly parted with tiny bits of skin flaking off of them, and Dean wants to touch them.  He wants to press his own lips against them, and his heartbeat quickens at just the thought of it. Instead, he slides his thumb across them.  They are soft and pliant, more delicate than they appear.  He’s never touched Castiel like this before and he wishes he had because it feels intimate, nice.  He wonders what would have happened, what could have happened, if he had touched him this way at the bunker, if he had offered Castiel his bed instead of a burrito, if he had confessed to him how much he wanted him to stay rather than tell him to leave._

_Dean feels a puff of breath on his skin while his thumb brushes back and forth once, twice, three times before Castiel stirs. He pulls his hand away as Castiel’s tongue flicks out from between the dry, pale pink lips and licks where Dean’s thumb had just been._

_He will probably never see his friend again after he drops him off at the Gas-n-Sip in a few hours. Dean carefully reaches behind him for his phone and takes a picture of Castiel, still asleep. At least he will have this. A photograph, a reminder for him only.  No one else will ever know, not even Castiel._

_He slides off of the bed and settles into the chair by the window, where he waits._

 ______________________________

 

Dean blinks several times before his eyes fully open. He is anxious, his chest pounding from within.  He pulls himself up, reaches for his phone on the nightstand by the bed, taps and swipes at the screen until he finds it.  The photo of Castiel asleep on the motel bed.  

He needs to talk to Hannah, but she didn’t visit his dream last night, and he wonders if the reason why is that it wasn’t really a dream at all. It was a memory, _his_ memory of the time he found Castiel working in a small Gas-n-Sip in Idaho.

Rexford, Idaho.

A loud, unintelligible cry falls from Dean’s open mouth the moment it hits him.  He grabs his still-packed duffle bag, writes a short note for Sam, and leaves the bunker without any plan or purpose other than to find Castiel.


	3. Townie

“She used the word tether?”

Jesus H. Christ. Even on the phone he has to tell Sam everything twice.

“Yes. That was the word. Why? You find something?”

"I thought you said she said connection."

"She did.  She said that too.  Is there a difference?"

“I don't know, maybe.  It’s just that, if he was, like she said, tethered, I would have expected it would be--” Sam stops, as if he has changed his mind about the rest of the sentence.

“What? You would’ve expected it would be what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, say it, Sam.”

“To you.” Sam says the words quickly. “I would have thought that if he was tethered to something, it would be you, Dean. I mean, profound bond and all that, right?”

Dean rolls his eyes, any lingering doubt about leaving Sam at the bunker dispelled.  He could do without the boy melodrama, as the high school girls had called it, and if Sam mentions that other word they used in their production, he will reach through the phone and strangle him.

But, if he's being honest, he had wondered something similar himself. If the connection had nothing to do with Jimmy Novak, then why wasn’t it to him and Sam? Even the angels considered Castiel to be the third Winchester.  Or if it had to be a location, then why wasn’t it the bunker?

“Well apparently not, smart-ass,” Dean grumbles.

Sam snorts on the other end of the line. He then tells Dean that he has found a picture of Castiel on the internet - well, a picture of Jimmy Novak, actually - and he will send it to him so he can show it around Rexford. They end the call with Sam proposing to come meet him and Dean instructing him not to bother because he has no intention of staying any longer than it takes to stop by each of the three local libraries in this podunk town.

He’s exhausted. He has spent nearly every waking minute of the last few days driving, and he needs some rest before he begins his search. He checks into the same motel by the highway that he stayed in last time he was here, and without wasting any time, dives onto the bed and sleeps.

______________________________

 

Dean hadn’t considered at all how finding Castiel would affect him. He just knew that there was no other option, no acceptable alternative. So he’s more than a little troubled by the way he reacts when he spots his long lost friend in the main branch of the Rexford Public Library.

He’s angry. Totally pissed, and he knows it’s the wrong way to feel, but he can’t help it. Seeing Castiel behind the information desk, talking, smiling, and laughing as if he’s actually enjoying himself, enrages him. And when it occurs to him the very next moment that this is what Castiel has been doing for the last six months without so much as a phone call, that while he and Sam have been scouring libraries, books, and ancient manuscripts twelve to fourteen hours a day, Castiel’s been having a grand old time shuffling books in the most boring place in America, he loses it.

“Hey! Really? Are you kidding me?” Dean shouts out as he stomps toward the counter that Castiel sits behind. Castiel is smiling when he first looks up, but it fades as soon as he sees Dean. Castiel rises to his feet, braces his hands on the top of the desk, narrows his eyes as he looks directly into Dean’s.

“Dean, are you okay sugar?”

The voice is loud, authoritative, and it comes from the round-faced, middle-aged woman at the other end of the desk. Dean doesn’t know her, has never seen her before in his life, but she’s not addressing Dean. She’s talking to Castiel.

“I’ve got this, Maggie.” Castiel responds to her, then turns back toward Dean. “Is there something I can help you with, _sir_?”

Castiel is less than six feet away from him, postured as if he is ready to come to blows with him at a moment's notice, eyeballing him as if he is some strange, angry nut job who has invaded his small townie world. The realization clips Dean right in the gut and he stops dead in his tracks.

Castiel has absolutely no idea who he is.

Dean stares at him, dumbstruck.

“I’ll ask you again. Is there something I can help you with?” Castiel’s voice deepens into a familiar, steely tone. He clearly means business, and for a second there, Dean thinks he’s about to get his ass kicked.

Dean shakes his head. “No. No.” He inches forward with small, reticent steps, until he reaches the edge of the counter. “I’m sorry. I thought I saw someone…” He trails off, unsure of how to end the thought.

“Someone you don’t like, I imagine?”

“No. Uhm, the opposite, actually.” Dean scrubs his hand over his mouth while he thinks. “It’s a long story. I was just…” Dean’s contrition is genuine. And so is his confusion. “I’m very sorry for, uh, causing a disturbance.”

Castiel relaxes a little, the loosening of his shoulders almost imperceptible, but Dean sees it. “All right, then. No harm done.”

“Thanks.”

The tight line of Castiel's mouth softens as he turns his attention to a manila file on the desk.  He opens it, begins to sort through the papers inside.  

“Can I… ask you something?"

Castiel stops what he is doing, looks up again at Dean.  "I suppose so.”

“Why did she call you Dean?” Dean gestures to the woman Castiel had referred to as Maggie. “I thought I heard her call you Dean.”

Castiel laughs. “Because that’s my name. My co-workers often call me by my name.”

“Of course they do,” Dean mumbles, shuffles his feet.

The conversation is over, it seems, as far as Castiel is concerned, since he goes back to his paper sorting,  But Dean stays put until Castiel feels obligated to say something else.

“I haven’t seen you in here before," Castiel says, eventually.  "At least not since I’ve worked here. Are you new in town?”

“Yes,” Dean says slowly. “How long have you worked here?”

“Going on six months now.”

“Huh.” Dean shoves his hands into his pocket. “You, uh, like it?”

“What’s not to like?”

“Okay now, boys, this ain’t happy hour down at the Watering Hole.” Maggie comes up behind Castiel and drops several books on the counter. “He gets off at eight,” she tells Dean.

“Very funny.” Castiel says to her dryly.

“I’ve gotta go, anyway.” Dean begins to back away. He should go now, call Sam so they can talk this through, figure some things out, but he can’t take his eyes off of this Castiel. Castiel, without a suit and coat. Castiel, dressed in blue jeans and a shirt with rolled up sleeves, like when he was Steve. Like when he was human.

“I didn’t get your name.”

Dean stops, pokes himself in the chest. “You want _my_ name?”

Castiel shrugs. It’s offhanded, one-shouldered. “It only seems fair. You have mine.”

No, _you_ have  _mine,_ Dean thinks.  “It’s Sam. Sam Wi…” He starts to use his brother’s name, then thinks better of it. “Sammm…wiiii…se.” Damn it, he didn’t mean to do that. Before killing Dean, Metatron, creepy little fuck that he is, infested Castiel’s mind with his own literary and entertainment knowledge. Dean didn’t like it, especially since despite having the information, Castiel still managed, most of the time, to not get it. But now, in his attempt to avoid using one of his usual classic rock star aliases, he inadvertently went in a different direction. What are the chances that Metatron hasn’t read Tolkien?

“Sam Wise?” Castiel repeats the name with no recognition, no indication that he suspects it is false.

“Y-y-yessss.” Dean raises one finger, nods. “You are correct. That is exactly it. Sam. And then Wise. Sam is the first name. Wise is the last name. It’s two completely separate words that happen to make up my name.”

“Yes, I got it.” Castiel grins. “And what brings you to the library, Sam Wise?”

“Uh, books.” Dean makes a sweeping motion with his arm. “All of these… books.”

Castiel chuckles softly. “All right.” He points to the stack Maggie had set in front of him. “I have to get back to work. Goodbye Sam Wise.”

“Yeah.” Dean stares for another moment before he snaps himself out of it. “Okay. I’m gonna go.”

He spins around, and fighting the urge to look back, he leaves the library.

_____________________________

 

Dean waits in the Impala, parked across the street. The lights go dim inside the library precisely at eight p.m., and fifteen minutes later, Castiel, Maggie and another woman come out of a door on the side of the building. Castiel walks with them to the nearly empty parking lot, where they chat for a short time before the women each get into their own vehicles.

Castiel waves at them as they pull away, then begins to walk down the sidewalk. Dean ducks when he passes the car, even though he is across the street, and when it looks to him like Castiel is far enough away but still within his sights, he sits back up, starts the car, and follows him.

______________________________

 

Castiel opens the car door and slips into the front passenger seat next to Dean, closes the door behind him. Dean is bewildered. When did he change into a suit? When did he put on the trench coat?

“Cas? What’s going on?”

Castiel says nothing. He smiles and reaches for Dean’s zipper.

“Whoa, whoa, not so fast, buddy.” Dean pushes Castiel’s hand away from his denim- clad groin. “We need to talk.”

“Talk?” Castiel furrows his brow. “I’m not here to talk, Dean. I’m never here to talk.”

This is a dream, but Dean doesn't want it to be.  He shakes his head, hears a faint, rhythmic, banging behind him.

When Dean opens his eyes, he is alone, slumped over behind the wheel of the Impala.  He stretches his back and shoulders, rolls his head from side to side, jumps when he hears a loud tap at his driver's side window.

It’s Castiel. Maybe. He can't actually be sure. It might just be someone or something that looks like Castiel. In fact, there’s a pretty good chance of that, he realized, after he and Sam discussed the possibilities last night.  That was, of course, before he fell asleep in the car, parked outside of some business that this Castiel lives above. In the meantime, Sam is doing more research, and they both agreed that they would put together a game plan before he has any more contact with the Castiel-looking being that calls himself “Dean.”

Dean grabs his sunglasses from the dashboard and puts them on before he rolls the window down.

“It’s Sam, right?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, ready to excuse himself and call Sam as he drives away. “Yeah,” he croaks. “And you’re…?” He pretends he doesn’t remember. He wants to hear Castiel say it again.

Castiel looks somewhat disappointed. “Dean. My name is Dean.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

“Are you all right?” Castiel asks, and he seems genuinely concerned.

“Yeah. I just haven’t had a chance to find a place yet. Or a motel.”

“Well there’s one about three miles from here, by the interstate.”

“Good to know,” Dean says, fingering the screen of his phone.  

“Can I buy you some coffee?” Castiel gestures toward the coffee shop on the corner.

Dean glances at his phone, takes a long, deep breath, then tucks it back into his jacket pocket. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I’d like that.”


	4. Coffee

The coffee shop is a little too granola for Dean’s tastes, but Castiel seems to be a regular, probably because he lives right above it, and these triangle-shaped muffins the guy behind the counter brought over to their table are a bit dry, but still, pretty tasty.

Castiel sits across from him at the small, round table, sipping from his coffee, watching him.  “I see you like the scones.”

Aha! So this is what a scone is.  He’s never had one before.  Not bad, not bad at all.  He’d always thought that scones were horrible, crunchy things, like that biscotti stuff Sam made him try a few years back.

Dean wipes his mouth with his arm, nodding and chewing at the same time.  “Never had one before,” Dean says after he swallows.  “They’re good.  So are they just free here, or what’s the deal?”

“No, they just know me here.  I live upstairs,” Castiel says.  “And everyone’s very friendly.”

“Well, those are very good reasons to come back here,” Dean says. 

Castiel raises one eyebrow.  “ _Reasons?_ ” he asks, emphasizing the plural. 

“Since I’m new in town, I appreciate that everyone’s friendly,” Dean explains quickly.  “And the free scones.”

“They’re not free, Sam.”

“Right.  I meant the scones that I can buy here but that _you_ get for free.”

Castiel grins, close-mouthed and, Dean thinks, kind of smug-like.

“Look.  I want to apologize again for what happened in the library.” Dean changes the subject.  “I hope it’s okay for me to go back there.”

“Of course it is.  You’re welcome there. Whenever you have a need to see... all the books.”

“Well that’s good,” Dean says, holds up his mug. “I think I need a refill. You?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You know,” Dean points to Castiel’s coffee cup. “I never would have pegged you for a mocha latte double whip kind of a guy.”

“No?”  Castiel wraps his fingers around his cup.  “Do you think you can tell much about a person based on how they take their coffee?”

“Well, no.  Yes?  Maybe.”

“Because your coffee is black, no cream, no sugar. What does that say about you?”

“That I like things plain and simple,” Dean states. “No frills.  No extras.”

Castiel shrugs.  “If you say so.”

“You disagree?”

“I don’t know you well enough to disagree, Sam.”

“And yet you do.  Disagree that is.”

Castiel rocks his head from side to side. “I’ve made some observations in the last twenty minutes.”

“Okay.  I’m listening.”

“You’ve ordered your coffee black and without sugar, and you drank it up, now ready for a refill.  But you don’t actually enjoy it that way.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You make a face after every sip, a grimace, before you swallow. And then you lift your head, to help it go down. You’ve eaten two scones, and you would happily eat another one if you didn’t think it was rude since I’ve not had any yet, and each time you took a bite you filled your mouth with coffee. You like the scones, especially the glazed ones, because the sweetness offsets the bitterness of your black, sugarless coffee.”

“Huh.”  Dean has no doubt that what Castiel has described is true.  Black coffee _is_ bitter, but he’s sure he’s always liked it that way.  “So you think I’m some kind of fraud?  A coffee imposter?”

Castiel chuckles.  “No, not at all.  Like I said, I don’t know you, but it’s very possible that it’s a choice you make on a subconscious level.”

“As in I like my coffee with cream and sugar but I don’t know it?"

“Not exactly.  You know it, but aren’t aware of it, if that makes any sense at all to you.”

It doesn’t.  Although, right before they took down the Flowers in the Attic shifter in Connecticut last year, he did drink that tiny cup of glazed doughnut flavored coffee Sam gave him, and he doesn’t remember hating it.

Castiel continues.  “But I would guess that black, sugarless coffee is, for whatever reason, what you consciously believe you should have.”

“And why is that, Dr. Phil?”

Castiel smiles, shakes his head.  “I don’t know.  That’s something for you to work out.”  He stands up, steps back from the table.  “Forget it.  I’m probably full of shit.  I’ll be right back,” he says, nods towards the restroom before he leaves Dean alone at the table.

Dean looks around, makes sure no one is looking, then pulls out the flask he keeps in one of his jacket pockets.  He slides Castiel’s mug across the table toward him, unscrews the cap from the flask, then pauses before he pours any of its contents into the mug.  He picks it up and takes a sip of it first, and damn it, it’s fucking delicious. He puts it back down quickly, then spills a few drops of holy water into the cup and pushes it back in place.

Castiel doesn’t bother to sit down when he comes back. He slips one hand into his back pocket. “I should get going,” he says.

“Oh,” Dean scrabbles to stand up.  “Gotta go to work?”

“Not until later.”

“Okay.”

“There’s this farmer’s market every Friday morning that’s not too far from here.  I was going to head over.  You interested?”

A farmer’s market?  Dean couldn’t be less interested in farmer’s markets. Last time Sam dragged him to one, it had only been bearable because Dean managed to end up behind a nearby haystack with one of the market farmers’ daughters. 

“If you don’t mind a tag-along, that sounds great. I could use some…” Dean tries to remember what exactly they sell at those things.  “Tomatoes.”

“All right.  Let’s go get some tomatoes.”  Castiel turns to go, then reaches back and takes one long chug from his coffee before setting the mug back down on the table.  Dean watches anxiously while Castiel licks the white foam from his lips.  “Ready?”

Dean nods.  He needs to call Sam.  At least he knows now that this Castiel is not a demon.

______________________________

 

“I’m pretty sure he’s just Cas.  Only more…” Dean can’t find the right word. He excused himself from Castiel to make the call to Sam, and although he is far enough away to not be heard, he’s close enough to keep an eye on him.

“More what?”

“Accessible, I guess.  I don’t know.”

“Accessible?  That’s an, uhm, interesting choice of words.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Sam dismisses it.  “Listen, Dean, I agree with you that the leviathan threat is over, but you can never be too careful.  And you haven’t even ruled out shifter yet, have you?”

“Technically no.  But I told you, I think he’s Cas, Sam.  I think he’s human Cas, like he was last time he was in Rexford, only this time he’s been Total Recalled.”

“Maybe.” 

“It would explain the connection.  Or the tether.  Or whatever.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Sam says, but doesn’t elaborate, and Dean doesn’t ask.  He wants to end the call.  Castel is waiting for him. 

“Be careful, Dean.  Stay around crowds, other people.  Don’t get into a situation where you’re alone with him.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“And I think I should come out there.  Help you out. Even if it _is_ Cas, something happened to him, and he needs our help.”

Dean watches Castiel amble from one booth to the next, chatting, smelling and squeezing fruits and vegetables like he actually enjoys it.  “No, don’t come yet. It’ll only complicate things. I’ll let you know if things go south. We don’t want to spook him.”

“If that’s what you want, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean can hear it, that inflection Sam gets in his voice when he thinks he knows something that he really has no frigging idea about.  “Heard from Hannah?”

“Nope.  Not since I’ve been here.”

Castiel has been hovering at the booth with a display of dream catchers.  He touches the feathers of one, runs his finger along the webbed design of another. The bearded, ponytailed guy manning the booth, who looks nothing like any kind of farmer Dean has ever seen, is smiling at Castiel with too much teeth for Dean’s comfort. “Yeah, I’ve gotta go Sam,” he says into the phone as he ends the call, tucks the phone into his pocket, and hurries over to Castiel.  Ponytail at least has the decency to back off when Dean gets there.

“You like it?”  Dean asks.

“I think so.”  Castiel shrugs. “But I’m unclear on what its purpose is.”

“You’ve never seen a dream catcher before?’’ Dean asks.

Castiel shuffles his feet.  “I'm not sure.”

“Well the lore is that if you hang it where you sleep, like over the bed, or in a window or something, the web part catches the bad dreams, but the good dreams come through the little hole in the middle.”

“I see.”

“Are you having nightmares?”  Dean asks.  He’s concerned.  He knows how unpleasant their dreams can be.  And if Castiel is having those kinds of nightmares with no point of reference, it would be nothing less than terrifying for him.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t…I don’t seem to remember my dreams.”

Dean is relieved, but perplexed.  “None of them?”

“No.  It’s as if I don’t dream at all.  But that’s crazy because everyone dreams, right?”

Dean shrugs.  Not everyone, he thinks.  Angels don’t.  But the man standing beside him is not an angel.  Not anymore. 

“I don’t sleep well,” Castiel discloses. “And sometimes I think that it’s because my dreams, well, maybe they’re not good ones.  Maybe I don’t remember them when I wake up because my mind is blocking them, protecting me.”

“Well that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Nobody wants bad dreams.”

“I think,” Castiel looks down, hesitates. “I think bad dreams would be better than no dreams at all,” he says lowly.

“Huh,” Dean says. 

Castiel shakes his head.  “You must think I’m insane.”

“No, I don’t.  That’s not…no.  Not at all.” Dean drops his hand onto Castiel’s shoulder.  “If anything, _I’m_ the one here who’s insane. Barging into your quiet library like I did.  Hollering at someone who wasn’t even there.”

Castiel offers half of a smile, nods appreciatively. “Let’s find you some tomatoes, Sam,” Castiel says, and walks away.  Dean follows him.

 ______________________________

 

Dean tries to look casual and nonchalant as he pushes his way through the library doors, but his eyes have their own agenda, apparently, and they immediately begin to scan the area for dark hair and blue eyes.

He sees him, shelving books on the other side of the main room. He clears his throat to get his attention and it works.  Castiel looks up, pulls his lips up into a pleasing curve before he raises one hand in what could pass as a hasty Boy Scout salute.  Dean smiles back, nods before setting his duffel bag down on the table.

Dean is barely settled in before Castiel is there. They parted ways earlier, after the farmer’s market, but Dean parked the Impala around the corner and kept an eye on Castiel’s apartment until Castiel appeared again and walked to his job at the library.  Dean then grabbed a drive through burger and ate it in the parking lot while he came up with a cover story for his library visits.

“Back so soon?”  Castiel pulls out the chair next to Dean and sits. “Needed to see all these books again already?”

Dean laughs.  “I’m writing a book,” he announces.

“Oh.”  Castiel looks surprised and impressed.  “What kind of book?”

“What kind of book?”  Dean repeats, stalling for time to mull over his second thoughts. He has this all planned out, and he intentionally did not run it by Sam because Sam would’ve nixed it. Big time. 

“Yes.  What kind of book are you writing?”

“A book about popular lore.  Myths, that kind of thing.”

“Like the Native American dream catchers?”

“Yeah.  But no.  More about…beings from another place.” 

“Aliens?  You mean from other galaxies?”

“No.”  Dean takes a deep breath, decides to go for it.  “I mean from heaven.  I mean angels.”

“You’re writing a book about angels?” Castiel sits back thoughtfully, and Dean watches his face closely, scrutinizes it for any sign of recognition, but there is none.  “That sounds incredibly interesting, Sam.”

“Believe me, it is.”

“Well, I think I can help you with that. If you’d like.”

Dean’s eyebrows hike up.  “You can help me?  How?”

“I can do research, pull some secondary sources for you. Check our online systems and see what’s out there.”

“Secondary sources?”

“Yes.  Secondary, tertiary.  That’s as close of a source as you’re gonna get to anything remotely plausible, considering your subject matter.  I doubt you’ll find any verifiable first hand information.”

“Yeah, no.  You’re right,” Dean says slowly. 

Castiel stands, pushes his chair back in under the table, then leans over it so he is still face to face with Dean. “I have to get back to the desk.”

“I appreciate your help, though,” Dean says. “I’ve never written a book. I’m not exactly sure how to do this.”

“Me neither.”  Castiel pats Dean on the back.  “We can always just make it up as we go.”

 


	5. Charity

Dean gives Castiel a lift home, even though it's little more than a mile away.  On the way, Castiel thumbs through Dean’s box of cassette tapes between them on the Impala’s front bench seat, pulls a few of them out to examine them further. 

“These all have music stored on them?”

“Yeah. Most of them are albums, but a few are mix tapes.”

“I like music.” He says it almost indifferently, as if he is stating a simple matter of fact, and it’s exactly how Castiel would say it.  Dean recalls how Castiel would sometimes go through his things, interested in the things that interest Dean.  Between this and what he said earlier in the library, a sad familiarity stirs something in Dean that leaves him tongue-tied, unable to speak.

He needs a moment to recover, but when Dean drops his chin and says nothing, Castiel returns the tapes to the box, thanks him for the ride, then gets out of the car and crosses the street to his apartment over the coffee shop. 

______________________________

 

Castiel's coat and suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor by the bed, where Dean tossed them.  His crisp, white shirt is unbuttoned.  Dean slips his hand under the fabric, rubs his open palms across Castiel's chest, then steps back.

“Cas, I want to.  You know I want to.  But we should talk.  We have to talk.”

Castiel squints at him, cants his head.  “We don’t talk.  You never bring me here to talk.”

“I know.  And I’m sorry about that.” Dean bows his head.  “I don’t know why.”

“Yes you do, Dean.”  Castiel says.  “It’s easier for you to love physically than emotionally.” 

“Is that what this is?” Dean mutters, almost to himself.  “Do you think I’m _in love_ with you?”

“What I think is of no import here.”  Castiel smiles weakly.  “This is your dream, Dean.  Not mine.” 

Dean sits on the bed and watches Castiel, makes no move to stop the angel as he opens his belt, unbuttons his dress pants and drags the zipper down.

“No.”  Dean says it quietly at first, then again, louder.  “No. I can’t, Cas.  Not like this.”

“All right,” dream Castiel says before he vanishes, and Dean is left alone on the flowered, or striped, or plaid bedcovering of the imaginary motel room bed. 

“Dean Winchester.  I’m pleased to find you alone.  And fully clothed.”

Dean recognizes Hannah’s voice, although it is less skittish than usual, so he looks up to confirm that it’s her.

“Yeah, you hit the jackpot,” Dean hisses at her. “And why do you always I Dream of Jeannie into my head anyway?  It’s like you’re trying to catch me off-guard.  Quit the dream walking crap.  I don’t like it.”

“It’s the only way I can communicate with you.”

Dean assumes Hannah is referring to the fact that she can’t drive a car.  “Call me. We can chat on the phone, or I can come to you.”

“If you are asking me to contact you via a cellular device similar to the one Castiel used, I cannot.  I don’t have a vessel any more.”

“Can’t you just borrow one for a few minutes?”

“No.  It’s forbidden now.  It was the first law passed by the new Council.  The use of human vessels by angels has been prohibited.”

“So no more angels on earth?”

Hannah nods.  “No angels are allowed here in human form.”

“Except Cas.” 

“No exceptions.”

“So does that mean he’s human now?”

“No.”

“Then how…?” Dean asks, forehead wrinkled.  He was certain that the man now using his name was just that – a man.

“He petitioned the Council to be allowed to return to earth.”

“And?”

“His petition was denied.”

“Denied?  That’s bullshit.”  Dean leaps to his feet, pads back and forth along a nonexistent line in the worn carpet of the rundown room. “What’s this Council anyway? And why are you suddenly Chatty Cathy?”

“I’m sure these things you say are clever, but as I’ve told you I don’t comprehend--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean cuts her off.

“And as for the Council, there are nine.”  Hannah continues stoically.  “Selected from the ranks of the Heavenly Host, the new Council will govern Heaven, in accordance with our divine mission, until the return of our Father.”

“Are you one of them?”

Hannah folds her hands on her lap.  “I am.”

“And what about Cas?”

“Castiel wants something else.”

Dean stops pacing and stands in front of Hannah. He never liked the angels, still doesn’t, but Castiel seemed to be very fond of this one, so he thought she was different too.  He’s more angry than he is disappointed to discover that he was wrong.

“He wants to live here, and you angel dicks can’t stand it, is that it?  After everything, you just can’t stand the fact that he actually likes it here.” His head shakes to make his disapproval clear.  “And you were supposed to be his friend.” 

“My vote was but one, Dean.  And I do appreciate the Council’s concern.”

“Well he’s here, so what happened?  And why doesn’t he know who I am?  Or who _he_ is for that matter?”

“They did grant him one concession.  With provisos, they’ve allowed Castiel to be here on a trial basis.”

“Provisos?  You mean a total mind zap?”

“The Council has asked me to come speak with you to prevent catastrophic events.  I only have a limited amount of time, now, so please listen. For Castiel’s sake, you must.”

Well, that explains her cool demeanor.  She’s here on Heaven business. “Catastrophic events? Trial basis?  I don’t know what you’re talking about, sister, but I don’t like it.”  Dean is sick and tired of all the beating around the bush.  Angels never say what they mean and they’re always hiding something. “What if I tell him who he is? What if I show him what he is?”

“No, Dean, please.  Do not do that.” 

He’s finally managed to rile her, and he can’t keep himself from grinning at her sudden uneasiness. 

“His angelic essence has been separated from his humanity, but the partition is fragile.  It must remain intact while he is on earth or…” she trails off, doesn’t finish.

“Or what?” Dean demands.

“It’s uncertain, but we expect the consequences would be dire. No angel can live without grace, just as no human can live with it.”

More riddles.  Dean sits back down on the bed beside Hannah.   “Jesus Christ. Got any good news Debbie Downer?”

“In less than five days, the trial will be over and Castiel will return to heaven.  Permanently.”

"That’s the _good_ news? Come on!” Dean balls his hand up and slams it against the pressed wood nightstand.  “You can’t let that happen, Hannah.  You owe him!” he yells.  “He saved your ass!  He saved all of your angel asses!”

“You shield it well, even in your dreams.”  She reaches for his hand, lowers her voice. “But I see now that you care for him very much.”

“Yeah, well, I told you.  He’s my friend.”  

“Your friend.  Yes. Of course.”

“You know that he deserves more than this, Hannah.”  Dean meets her eyes with his, tries to discern whether all of her loyalty lies with Heaven or if there is still a soft spot for Castiel.  “He deserves more.“

She nods once.  “I am sorry, but as a member of the Council, I’m only here to advise you of the potential danger.”

“Great.  Fantastic.  Well done, then.” The sarcasm is likely wasted on Hannah, but the biting tone of his words is not.  “Consider me warned.”

“Please understand that there is nothing in Heaven that can change his current path.”  Hannah lays both of her hands over Dean’s, leans into him. “Nothing in _Heaven_ , Dean.”

She disappears, and he is about to spit out a string of expletives in her wake when he realizes that he is clutching a torn strip of paper in his fist.  He opens his hand, carefully unfolds the scrap, reads the meticulously printed words.

_true love_

He awakes with a shudder, holds out his hand and groans, frustrated that it is empty.  He repeats the two words over and over to himself while he digs for his phone to call Sam.

A gentle, measured rapping on the car window knocks him out of his thoughts and into full consciousness.  He looks to his left to see Castiel standing beside the car, leaning down and looking into the driver’s side window.  Dean adjusts himself in his seat and rolls the window down.

“Is everything…okay?”

It’s dark out.  Pitch black and quiet because there are no street lights and, a glance at his watch confirms, it’s two o’clock in the morning.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean says, as calmly as he can. Between the information dump Hannah just laid on him and being caught by Castiel mid stakeout, it’s all he can do to not start the car and drive away.

Castiel twists his mouth. “Sam.  I think I know what’s going on here.”

Dean licks his lips, braces himself.  Here it comes.  On top of everything else, Castiel probably now thinks that Dean is some kind of stalker, and he wouldn’t exactly be wrong.  “Yeah? You do?”

“Yes, I do.”  Castiel doesn’t sound mad, though, and Dean finds that odd. “You don’t have a place to stay yet, and you’ve been living…sleeping in your car.”

What?  “Uhm…”

“It’s all right, Sam.  There’s no reason to be ashamed.  We all fall upon difficult times.  We all need a little help sometimes.  I’m just sorry that I didn’t realize sooner. You were so quiet, earlier, and I was afraid that I had….it doesn't matter.  Bottom line is that I should have. It wasn’t long ago that I was in the same boat, as they say.”

“Hmmm.”  Even if he knew what to say, he really shouldn’t interrupt Castiel’s stream of consciousness with actual words.  He likes where it is going. 

“You’re staying with me.”  It’s not a question.  “Bring your bag.  I live right over the coffee shop.  It’s small, but the couch is big, and I guarantee, much more comfortable than the front seat of your car.”

“Oooo…kay.”  Dean wonders if there is anything more to this than just dumb luck. He snags his duffel from the back seat on the way out of the car, flings it over his shoulder, and lets Castiel lead the way.

______________________________

 

Castiel has left a note for him on the table next to the sofa bed. It says he went to the library, promises they will work on Dean’s book when he gets off.  In the meantime, Dean should help himself to any food or clothing in the small studio apartment, including the fresh scones set on the kitchen counter next to a twenty dollar bill Castiel has left for him “just in case.”

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep.  He must have, though, as soon as he got here, because except for his boots and jacket, he’s wearing all of his clothes. He doesn’t know where Castiel could have slept, but since Dean woke up sprawled horizontally across the mattress, he’s pretty sure it wasn’t on the bed with him.

Dean crams a piece of scone in his mouth as he puts on a pot of coffee. He takes a shower, and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, he explores the tiny, one room flat. Even going through the closets, cabinets, and drawers takes no time at all since Castiel doesn't own much, and the search doesn’t turn up any secrets or clues to whatever the hell is going on here.

The only thing he finds of his Castiel is the trench coat and suit hanging in the back of a closet.  In a box on a small desk by the refrigerator, he locates some rent receipts and paystubs for “Dean Smith,” and can’t help but laugh at the name. 

Still undressed, he pours himself another cup of coffee, this time adding both cream and sugar to it.  It’s good this way, he admits only to himself, and he sits down at the small kitchen table just as Sam calls.

“Hey, Dean, I may have found something.”

“Oh yeah?”  Dean takes a swig from his cup as if he is drinking whiskey, puts his feet up on the empty chair across from him.  He likes it here, in this one-room home that is not much bigger than the motel rooms he is used to.

“Did you know that the angels got their wings back?”

“No, I did not,” he says.  “But it’s not gonna matter much to us because they’re not allowed to come here anymore.”

“Angels are not allowed here anymore?”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counts silently to three to regain his patience.  It works.  “That is what I said, Sam.  That’s what she said. Hannah got into my head again last night, and she said it’s forbidden now.”

“Why?”

“Something about not using humans as vessels.”

“Well that sounds like a good thing.”

“Sounds like.”

“But what about Cas?  I mean, he’s technically not in a vessel anymore.  It's his body now.  That should be an exception, right?”

“That’s what I said.”  Dean huffs.  “Apparently he wants to stay here but Heaven won’t let him.  She said he has to go back for good in less than five days.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll figure something out.  I need to know everything she told you.”

Dean nods, even though Sam can't see him, then tells Sam what Hannah told him before she slipped the paper into his hand.

“I think she was trying to tell you something,” Sam concludes.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing in Heaven can change his path?  Sounds like she’s saying there _is_ something, but it’s here on earth.”

“Like what?” 

Sam clicks his tongue. “Like, I don’t know, maybe whatever has him _tethered_ here, Dean.”

“Gravity?”

Sam lets out a loud, frustrated, sigh, and Dean can’t blame him.  He’s being purposely dense, playing dumb for the same reason he didn’t tell Sam about the note Hannah gave him.  Denial.

“His humanity.  Or something related to that.”

“Yeah,” Dean concedes, voice low.  “You’re probably right.”

“Look, Dean, I know you’re upset, but we’ll figure this out, okay? I can be there in…”

“No, don’t!”  Dean objects a little too quickly, but he knows what he has to do and the last thing he needs is Sam here looking over his shoulder while he does it. “I need you to stay at the bunker and keep researching.  In the meantime, I’m gonna  try to get to know this Cas a little better.  See if I can find out what makes Spotless Mind tick.” 

______________________________

 

_The sounds are not loud.  They’re soft, small moans, easily mistaken for pleasure until they deepen and roughen. Dean knows what it is and what to do.  He dampens a hand towel with cool water, then goes to the bed, sits beside Castiel. He dabs the sweat from his neck and brow, then runs a soothing hand through his hair until the noises stop. Castiel doesn’t wake, and Dean wonders who will do this for him tomorrow, and the next day, or the day after that.  He would do it, if he could, but he can’t stay. The mercy-killing angel has been taken care of, and Sam, maybe even Ezekiel, is already suspicious.  Still, he worries.  Once he leaves Castiel here in Rexford, who will make sure his angel sleeps?_

______________________________

“Sam!”

Dean jolts up out of the sofa bed where he dozed off, eyes not yet open. He blinks a few times, grabs the towel to cover himself when he realizes that he is still naked.

“Oh.  Oh.” Castiel spins around. “I’m sorry.  It didn’t even occur to me that you might be…unclothed.” 

“It’s okay, Cas.”  Dean says to the angel’s back, reaching into his duffel bag for a clean pair of boxer briefs.

“What?  What did you call me?”

Holy Shit.  “Uh, I didn’t, I… Dean.  I called you Dean.  Because that is your name.”

Castiel turns back around just as Dean zips up his jeans. He is out of breath, as if he ran here.  His face is lit up, beaming, dimpled and creased in a way Dean has never seen before. He looks beautiful, and it’s only going to make this whole true love thing easier.  “No.  No it’s not,” he says.

Castiel’s eyes are bright, shiny.  He shakes his head, then wraps his arms around Dean in an enthusiastic hug. 

Dean’s heart stops.  It skips two, three, four beats before it begins pounding again.  For a split second, Dean thinks that the angels aren’t dicks after all, that this nightmare is over and he can take Castiel back to the bunker, where they can work out this thing between them that they should have worked out a long time ago but never did because of reasons that Dean can't seem to give a damn about now.

Castiel releases Dean and steps back, bounces on his feet as he speaks.

“My name is Steve.  And I used to work at the Gas-n-Sip.”

 


	6. Fairytale

Dean skillfully carries two open bottles in one hand while he pulls out his chair with the other and sits across from Castiel. “So this is the Watering Hole?” He deposits one of the beers in front of Castiel.  “Come here often?”

“My co-workers are quite fond of something called happy hour,” Castiel says. “Have you heard of it?”

“Are you kidding me?  Better than sliced bread.”  Castiel blinks a few times, and Dean enjoys the fact that he doesn’t get it. He can’t believe that it used to annoy him.  “It’s a great American tradition.  Right up there with ‘all you can eat’ and ‘ladies’ night.’” 

Castiel doesn’t get that either.  Dean smiles, then moves on.

“So you thought your name was Dean but now you think it’s Steve.  Sounds like an interesting story,” he prods.

“It might be.”  Castiel looks down at the bottle he holds between both of his hands.  “I only know part of it.”

Not wanting to push him, Dean waits for Castiel to go on.  He knows Castiel wants to talk to him, to tell him what he remembers.  It was his idea to come here, after all, in response to Dean’s only half-phony inquiry into what was behind Castiel’s excitement and the sudden name change.

“I don’t remember who I am.” 

So he’s jumping right into it.  That’s my boy, Dean thinks.  He raises his brows to show his interest, sips from his beer.

“Maggie – you met her at the library – she found me asleep in the reference section after hours, wearing a suit and an overcoat.  I had no wallet, no identification, no phone, and no idea who I was or how I got there.”

“Wow, that must’ve been rough,” Dean says.  “If you didn’t know who you were, why did you call yourself Dean?”

“It was the only name I remembered. I assumed it was mine.”

Dean gulps. There’s a reason that his name is the only one that Castiel recalls.  He hopes it’s the kind of reason that will keep him here with Dean, where he has no idea he wants to be; the kind of reason that precipitates a happily ever after.

“And I wasn’t wrong, Sam,” Castiel adds.  “Nora tells me that Dean is my last name.”

“What?” Dean spits out the small bit of beer he hadn’t quite swallowed, then wipes his arm across his mouth. “I mean, who?  Who is Nora?”

“She's the manager at the gas station where I worked.  She came into the library this morning and recognized me.”

“And when you saw her, did you…?”

“No. I have no memory of her or the Gas-n-Sip.  But she said that my name is Steven Dean.  She has paperwork that proves it.  Copies of my driver’s license and social security card. I even had a nametag. People called me Steve.”

Fake IDs, of course, and Dean is proud that Castiel had managed to acquire them on his own.  Dean had realized after Castiel left that he should have tried to set him up with something, but Castiel was gone only minutes after Dean told him he couldn’t stay at the bunker, ignoring Dean as Dean followed him to the door and pulled out his wallet, tried in vain to give him whatever cash he had. And no, Castiel didn’t mention that he was using Dean’s name when he found him at the Gas-n-Sip while hunting the thing that was turning people into pepto-bismol.  He wishes he had known that then.

“Steve? Steve Dean?”

“Yes. Steve.”

“You don’t look like a Steve.”  It comes out biting, sour, and Dean drains the remaining beer from his bottle to shut himself up.

It doesn’t bother Castiel, though.  He just smiles. “And _you_ don’t look like a Sam.  But we don’t get to choose our own names, do we.”

“I guess not.”  Dean drops the empty bottle on the table. 

“At any rate, she can tell me more about myself tomorrow night.”

“What’s tomorrow night?”

“I’m going to see her again.  Her idea. A date.”

“You have a date?  You have a date with Nora?”

“Yes. And I’m somewhat nervous about it.”

“Are you sure it’s a date?”  Last time Castiel thought Nora asked him out, it ended with another blow to his friend’s already damaged ego.  “Maybe she was asking you to babysit or something?”

Castiel frowns.  “Why would she ask me to...how do you know she has a child, Sam?”

“I don’t know,” Dean scrambles.  “I just figured she did because she was, you know, at the library.”

Castiel opens his mouth to question Dean further, but changes his mind with a tiny shake of his head and takes a pull from his bottle instead.  “We plan to eat dinner together and then see a movie.   Should I consider that a date?”

“Yeah,” Dean concedes reluctantly.  “That does sound like a date.”

“Good,” Castiel says. His satisfied tone pokes at Dean like a hot iron. “It will be my first date, at least since I’ve been here.  I may need your assistance, if you’re willing.”

He wonders exactly what Nora has told Castiel and whether she mentioned Dean’s visit. He never actually met Nora when he was there before, although she saw him at the store and outside of her house. Anything she knows about Dean would have to have come from Castiel, and with the angels out to get him, Castiel was pretty tight-lipped at the time.  So maybe he has nothing to worry about, other than this date thing.

Dean tries to sound upbeat and positive, but it’s hard.  “Sure Steve,” he says.  “Whatever you want me to do.  We should head out now, though.  We’ve got a three hour drive ahead of us.”

“We sure do,” Castiel agrees, then takes one last sip of beer before he stands, ready to go.

______________________________

 

While Dean was sleeping and showering and snooping and then sleeping again, Castiel was working a short shift at the library, doing research on his new friend Sam’s behalf in between book duties.  He found what he had been looking for in a small, semi-private library in Montana.

Dean was torn, but agreed to the trip because Castiel was excited about it, and it would give him some much needed time alone with him.  On the other hand, if anything they found caused Castiel to realize that he is an angel, well, it seemed that not even the angels knew what would happen, but it wasn’t going to be good.

“What’s so special about this book?”  Dean asks, to make conversation.

“It was written over sixty years ago and purports to describe in detail an angelic order, the author claiming to be a fallen angel with first-hand knowledge,” Castiel explains.  “Of course, the claim is ridiculous, and he was mocked, the book dismissed as a sham.”

“Crazy. Nuts.”  Dean tries to say it convincingly, makes a gratuitous hand gesture for effect.  “Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, am I right?”

Castiel obviously doesn’t get his reference, but nods once anyway. “Yet, there are a few hardcore believers who swear by it, and in light of recent multiple accounts by people claiming to have had their bodies possessed by an angel for several months, I thought we should check it out.  Make some comparisons.”

“Check it out?  Is that library humor?”

“Uh, no, not really.  Because in fact, we cannot check this book out.  It’s for reference only and cannot be removed from the library.”

“Seems like a long way to go just to look at a book, not that I’m complaining.”

“I agree, but there aren’t many copies of it available, Sam.  In fact, we’re lucky there’s one so close to us. Otherwise we would have to go to New York City, Rio de Janeiro, or Rome.”

Dean taps the steering wheel, eyes on the road.  “Well the company’s good.  I’d be up for any of those trips.”

Castiel looks down at his hands with a shy close-mouthed grin. “Yes, me too, I believe.”

Dean bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling too eagerly at Castiel’s response. He and Castiel have never taken a trip together.  Not really.   Not without Sam, and certainly not for any reason other than hunting.  They should have, when they had the chance.  It might have changed things.  But they’re taking one now, and even though Castiel knows nothing of their past, Dean is going to make the most he can of it.

“Why don’t you pick out some music.  Whatever you want to hear.” He pushes the box of cassette tapes toward Castiel. “Shotgun picks the music, driver shuts his cakehole.”

______________________________

 

They arrive at the library less than two hours before closing.  The building is not large, a little smaller than the Rexford branch where Castiel works, and once they find the book, they settle at a table in the back corner of an otherwise empty reading room.

It’s quiet. Castiel is engrossed in reading the book they came for, taking notes on a legal pad, while Dean pretends to be equally interested in an encyclopedia volume from the stack of books Castiel sat on the table beside him.  Dean can’t concentrate, though.  He’s too concerned, worried about the possibility that something in that book might jog some angel memories, so instead he watches Castiel, as stealthily as he can manage, on the lookout for any sign of distress.

Castiel has brought a backpack with him.  Dean doesn’t know why, until Castiel reaches inside of it and pulls out a bag of scones.  They’re the ones Dean likes, from the coffee shop below his apartment.

Castiel holds out the open sack, offering.

Dean looks around them, then leans across the table.  “Hey, isn’t there a no food rule?”

Castiel bites into a scone and nods.  “I’m sure there is,” he says before he takes another bite.  “But it’s a dumb rule.”

If he wasn’t already in love with Castiel, he would be now.  It’s another example of what Dean has come to learn over the years: he and Castiel are more alike than they are different.

The library lights dim, and Castiel sighs, irked.  He drops his pen on his pad and pushes his chair in, rubs his hands on his thighs. 

“Why don’t you get the car, Sam. I’ll clean up here.”   He says it without looking at Dean, his eyes too busy scanning the room.

“I’ll help,” Dean offers as he begins to gather up the books they had spread out on the table.

“No, you go.  Let me do this, please,” Castiel says firmly, and Dean steps back, nods.

When Castiel exits the library, he's clutching his backpack to his chest.

“Drive,” he orders as he enters the vehicle, and Dean automatically clicks into getaway mode, stomping down on the gas pedal and getting them the hell out of there, asap.

It’s minutes later, when they are clear of the library and near the town border, that Dean notices Castiel watching him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. 

“What?” Dean asks.

“I sense that you have done that before.”

Dean grins. “Maybe.  So, uh, why did I do it just now?”

Castiel unzips his backpack and pulls out the book from the library.

“You stole a book?”  Dean laughs. “You made me leave so you could steal a book?”

“Not any book.  The angel book.” Castiel crosses his arms. “I didn’t want you there, in case I was caught.  It wouldn’t be fair to involve you in my criminal activity.”

“So is this something I should know about you, Sundance?  You a bit of a klepto?”

“Of course not,” Castiel says indignantly.  “I will return it as soon as we’re done with it.  We didn’t have enough time, and there’s something about this book, Sam, it…” he stops, shrugs.  “It’s absurd, but at the same time, it somehow rings true. I wanted to share it with you.”

“Share it with me?” 

“Yes.”

Dean thinks he probably shouldn’t read much into that, but he does, and if Castiel wants to share things with him, Dean’s going to make it as easy as possible for him to do so.

“Then maybe we should find a place to stay for the night.  We could get some beer and a pizza and hang out, take a look at the book.”

Castiel twists his mouth, thinking, before he nods.  “I think that’s an excellent idea, Sam.”

 ______________________________

 

“This is why I didn’t tell you.” 

Dean sighs loudly into the phone. He called Sam once Castiel went inside the pizza place to pick up the pie they ordered and Castiel insisted on paying for. 

“So you’re telling me you have less than five days to make the hot librarian fall in love with you?  I’m pretty sure I saw that movie.”

“Yeah, it figures you would have, Samantha,” Dean snips.

“Dean, your life is actually a chick flick.”

Yep.  Exactly what he expected.  “Heeeere we go,” Dean sing-songs.

“Or a fairytale.  It’s almost like a fairytale.  But with two princes.”

“Okay. Get it all out, Sam.”

He can’t actually hear his brother laughing on the other end of the line, but he has no doubt that he is.  And while Dean gets the irony of it all, Castiel’s future, possibly even his life, is at stake.  

Except that when Sam speaks again, he’s not at all laughing. 

“Seriously, though.  How long have you felt this way, Dean?” 

“A while. This news really surprises you Mr. ‘let’s talk about our feelings’?”

“No, actually,” Sam says.  “You finally admitting it is the only part that surprises me.”

“Yeah well, I’m pretty much backed into a corner, don’t you think?”

“That’s romantic.  No wonder you’re single.”

“Shut up.” Dean watches Castiel through the window, waves back when he turns around and waves to Dean. “I’m a charming son of a bitch.”

Sam snickers.  “Yeah, you are. But what if…”

“What if what?”

“What if while you’re making him fall in love with you, he remembers that he’s _already_ in love with you?”

Dean hadn’t thought about that, even though on some level, he knew how Castiel feels about him.  “Huh,” he says.

“I’m just saying.  I had a wall in my head once too.  And when it came down, it was –“

Dean cuts him off, finishes the sentence for him before he’s forced to think about exactly how Sam’s wall came down.

“Catastrophic.”


	7. Outing

“I wonder if I’ve ever been here before.”  Castiel leans back on both elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him. 

 _You have_ , Dean does not say. He thinks about all the times Castiel zapped his way in and out of Rufus’s cabin in Whitefish while he watches him gaze upward, toward his first home.

“I see why they call it Big Sky Country,” Castiel says.  “I could sit here and look at it all night.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean agrees.  “So uh, why don’t we then?”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t have to get a motel room.  We can just sleep out here.  Under the wild blue yonder.”  Dean shrugs indifferently, even though he is anything but.  “Just an idea.”

Castiel twists from side to side, canvasses the empty fields that surround them.  

“I’ve got a couple more blankets in the trunk,” Dean persuades.  “Plus it’ll save us money.”

Castiel makes one last visual sweep before announcing his decision.  “All right.  Yes.  Let’s do that.”

“Great.” Dean smiles, satisfied.

Castiel pulls one leg up and leans into it, wraps an arm around it.  “Sam, may I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think angels are real?”

Dean stifles his bitter response before it makes its way out of his mouth by cramming the bottle between his lips and guzzling his beer.  “Does this have anything to do with the heist we just committed, Sundance?” he says instead.

“It does,” Castiel says.  ”Is it possible that angels do actually exist?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Castiel agrees.  "But if angels - beings created in heaven to do it’s work - truly exist, wouldn’t you expect that would be… a good thing?”

“Depends on your definition of a good thing.”

“According to the book, angels kill when it suits them.  And they do it without hesitation, without conscience.”

Sounds about right, Dean thinks.  “Huh.”

“And the author describes angels as a whole as mission-driven, virtually emotionless beings.”

“Yeah well, I guess that makes all the smiting go down a little easier.”

Castiel looks up again, then flips over onto his stomach, props himself up on his bent arms. 

“Hey, buddy, I’m sure some angels aren’t like that.  I mean, if angels are even a thing, and seriously, what are the chances?”  Dean waves his arm. “But if they are, I’m sure some of them are different.”

“Different how?”

“Just off the top of my head, maybe some of them are capable of feeling much more than they thought they could.  Maybe it’s hard for them to even recognize, but maybe some of them really do care,” Dean says, knows it’s true.

Castiel rolls onto his side facing Dean, interested.  “Care about what?”

“Uh, things?  Or, I don’t know, taking a wild stab here, humanity?  People?”

“Hmm.”

“Why does it bother you so much?” Dean probably shouldn’t ask, probably should be changing the subject, but he wants to know.  “It’s just a book.“

“It makes me wonder.”  Castiel plants his elbow on the ground, rests his head in his hand.   “What if everything we believe about the world is wrong?”

Just about everything Castiel believes right now _is_ wrong, but Dean keeps that information to himself.  Castiel only has a few more days until his memory is restored and the awful truth about good and evil once again becomes a daily struggle for him, here on earth and in heaven.  “Wrong how?”

“What happens if you find out that what you feel in your heart is good, isn’t?”

Dean rolls onto his side as well, leans on his elbow for support.    “We’re not talking about the angels anymore, are we?”

“No.”

He’s not good at empathy, or feelings, or talking about either one of those things, but this is Castiel.  This is Cas. “You wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“I know nothing about myself,” Castiel says cautiously.  “What if _I’m_ a bad person? What if I’ve done things, and, and… I just don’t …”

The last time Castiel lost his memory, Dean had asked him  - Emmanuel - that same question.  Emmanuel didn’t struggle with the possibility of a corrupt past, though.  He was at peace, even content, and if Dean had been able to save Sam while keeping Emmanuel’s true identity from him, he would have let Castiel stay blissfully ignorant and happy.

“It must be a little scary not knowing who you are,” Dean says. 

“Or _what_ I am.”

“You want to know what you are?  ‘Cause I can tell you exactly what you are,” Dean rumbles.  “You’re the guy who sees a stranger in need of a cup of coffee and you not only buy it for him, you take the time to sit and talk with him. Same guy needs a place to stay, and even though he’s a virtual unknown, could be a serial killer for all you know, you still offer up your couch and trust him in the place where you live. Not for nothing, but all I see when I look at you is a shit ton of goodness.”

It’s too dark to see if Castiel is blushing, but he dips his chin as if he is, his lips curling up slowly.  “Are you? A serial killer?”

Dean smirks.  “What do you think?”

“I don’t believe you have an evil bone in your body, Sam,” he says. “And the more time we spend together, the more I doubt that my motives are as altruistic as you describe. You see, I don’t have many friends.”

“Well you’ve got _me_ now, Sundance.”

“Is that a reference to Butch Cassidy’s partner in crime?”

“Well yeah.  The movie version at least.  You’ve seen it?”

“I have. It’s Maggie’s favorite. We have it at the library.” Castiel studies Dean’s face in the remaining specks of light.  “Who is Butch Cassidy in this scenario?”

“Well, I am.” Dean says it offhandedly, accompanied by a one-sided smile before he shifts onto his back and folds his arms behind his head.  Castiel follows suit and lies prone beside him, an arms length away.

“Do you have family?”  Castiel asks.

“Just my brother Sam,” Dean replies without thinking.

Castiel narrows his eyes.  “Your brother’s name is also Sam?  That’s odd.”

“Did I say Sam?”  Dean speaks slowly, stalls until he comes up with a new name for his brother, grateful that Sam won’t be coming here to add to the confusion.  He’s having enough difficulty keeping his and all of Castiel’s names straight. “Sam is _my_ name, of course.  My brother’s name is… Bobby.”

“Are you two close?”

“Very. We lost our mom when I was young and he was just a baby.  Our father was away a lot, on business, so I had a pretty good hand in raising him.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Castiel says, and Dean nods his acknowledgment. “Where is your brother now?”

“Kansas. Working.”

“Then tell me, Sam Wise, exactly what has brought you to Rexford?”

“I’m looking for something,” Dean says, voice low.  “Something I think I had once, but maybe took for granted. Something I didn’t realize… I mean, I couldn’t… ”

Dean turns his head, looks away for a moment, afraid that his face will give him away while he stumbles over his words.  He kicks at the empty pizza box down by his feet.

“I see.” Castiel doesn’t inquire further, as if he senses Dean’s discomfort, and Dean appreciates that.  “Here, Sam.”

Castiel hands Dean a beer, but doesn’t have any himself, instead drinks from a bottle of water. Dean’s the only one getting buzzed, and that’s not what he had at all planned.  His pick-up game is weak tonight, and rather than swing and miss, he decides to shelve it for now and just hang loose with his friend.

Sky gazing is nice.  It has always helped to center Dean. Years ago, before the bunker, when he and Sam were on the road constantly and they needed time to decompress, they would do this; sit outside for hours, drinking beer, barely talking, breathing in the brisk night air. It’s much like that, here with Castiel, but with a lot more talking and a little more laughing and something else that Dean can only describe as sexual tension, and now that he thinks about it, this is nothing like what he and Sammy used to do.

He only has to lie a little when he tells Castiel about his younger brother. The conversation is easy and natural, moves from Sam to food, and it makes Dean so hungry that he eats the rest of the scones Castiel brought along since they’ve already finished off the pizza. Castiel discloses that he doesn’t get hungry much, if at all, but he eats because he knows he has to. Between that and the lack of dreaming, Dean worries that Castiel’s partition is failing, that angel grace is seeping into his human side, and big trouble is ahead if Castiel doesn’t find true love before the wall comes down completely.

He hopes not, but Dean mentally prepares for the worst.  After all, “big trouble” is basically the Winchesters’ middle name.

 ______________________________

 

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.” Dean bends forward, rests his hands on his knees.  It’s not as cold as it was a few minutes ago, and Dean removes his jacket.

“What does it feel like?  Love.”

They’re sitting side by side on the hood of the impala when Castiel asks. He angles his head toward the man next to him, sees on his face that the question isn’t loaded from Castiel’s end, that it is, by all appearances, an earnest one. 

“Well, that depends on what kind of love you’re talking about.” 

Not that he’s ever seen any, but if his life really was a chick flick, as Sam said, this would be the point where he grabs Castiel and kisses him, plants one right on him because actions speak louder than words.  And Castiel might resist a little at first, out of sheer surprise, but then he’d fall right into it, realizing that he loves Dean too, that he has all along, and Castiel would say something like “it’s always been you,” and then some sappy excuse for music would begin to play and that’d be that. Voila.  True Love.

Okay, so maybe he has seen one or more chick flicks in his day. 

“Are we talkin’ love love here or just love?”

“I don’t remember any kind of love.”  Castiel says.  “But it’s the first one, I believe, that I’m mostly interested in.”

“Uhm, well,” Dean moistens his lips.  “I think it’s one of those things that you’ll just know when you feel it.” Dean’s the farthest thing from an expert in _love love_ , or _love_ , or feeling for that matter, but even he recognizes what a huge cop-out his answer is.

“But how, exactly, does it _feel_?”

“I can’t tell you.”  It’s dark outside, the only light offered by the moon and the stars, but when Castiel looks at him, Dean can see the blue of his eyes deepen, the pink of his cheeks brighten, and Dean realizes, goddammit, that he is dreaming. He should have known. He’d never climb all over Baby’s hood like this.

Well fine. This is a dream, and even though for some unknown reason, tonight’s dream Castiel looks like his new best buddy Dean, or Steve, or whatever the hell Castiel's name is today, he might as well make the most of it.  “But I can show you,” he says with a bravado that eludes him during waking hours spent with Castiel.

He leans in and kisses Castiel, but it’s strange, different.  This is not the compliant, horny version of Castiel created by and for his subconscious.  This Castiel is stiff, tense, definitely not kissing him back, and when he breaks away from the unanswered contact, he is faced with squinted eyes and furrowed brows.

“What are you…?”  Castiel starts, but Dean doesn’t let him finish.  They don’t have time for things like talking or romance.  He pushes their mouths together once more, because hell, this is Dean’s dream and he can do what he wants.   With one hand he steadies Castiel’s face, draws Castiel’s bottom lip between his and teases it with the tip of his tongue. Castiel sighs, relaxes into him, and although still tentative, begins to participate by mimicking Dean’s moves.

They do this for several minutes, and Dean swears it’s a silent game of Simon Says between them.  No words, just the occasional sound of heavy breathing, and even when Dean adds hands into the mix, Castiel doesn’t miss a beat.  He’s very good at this game, but before Dean has a chance to take it further, dream Castiel is gone, and Dean is left alone on Baby’s hood until he opens his eyes and finds that his true physical location is in the car's back seat, upright under two blankets.  Castiel sits awake beside him, also under said blankets, staring at Dean with wide-eyes.

Castiel doesn’t even blink for a long time and it’s kind of freaky.  “What?”  Dean raises his arms and stretches them out as much as he can. He remembers now that they were chatting away easily last night under the open sky while lying backs flat on the blanket covered ground, until the weather became too harsh and even the heat from a campfire along with army-issue blankets from the bunker could not make the cool night air bearable.  They moved the conversation into the Impala, doubled up and shared the blankets for warmth.

“Nnn…nothing.” Castiel pushes the blankets down off of his shoulders.   “Were you…dreaming?”

“Yeah.” Dean grins, smug-like. He can’t help it – it was a damn nice dream.

“What about?”

The smugness slips away as Dean scrabbles for an answer.  “I, uh, don’t remember.  But it was good.”

“Oh.” Castiel picks at the tiny fuzz balls on the old woolen fabric covering his lap.  It’s obvious that Castiel doesn’t believe him.

“I’d tell you if I could,” Dean says.  “I mean, I know you don’t dream.  And even though I’m sure that not dreaming is a blessing more than a curse, I’d share mine with you, if I could.”

Castiel stops picking at the blanket.  “That’s very kind of you, Sam.”

Dean will never get used to being called Sam.  It’s just fucking weird.

“Hungry?” Dean asks once they’ve packed up the blankets and settled into the front seats. 

Castiel shakes his head.  “No. Not at all.  But I could use some coffee while you eat.”

Dean nods and starts the car while Castiel picks through the cassette tapes. “Led Zeppelin?” He reads the name as if it is a question.

“Yeah, put that on.  You like them?”

“I don’t know.  I have very little knowledge of music.  Maybe I used to?” Castiel asks, and Dean’s not going to tell him that the answer is a firm negative.

“Yeah, maybe.”  Dean takes the tape from Castiel’s hand and pushes it into the player. 

Castiel jumps a little when the music starts and Dean chuckles, waits a few seconds before he lowers the volume.

“Give it a chance,” he tells Castiel.  “These guys are the rock and roll gold standard.  They played hard, partied hard, made music that hasn’t been bested in decades, probably never will be.”

“Interesting.” Castiel appears to be concentrating on the music, probably trying to ferret out the lyrics.  Well good luck with that, Dean thinks.

“The whole band was known for their drug use and wild partying, but they had what may have been the most civilized rider on their performance contract.   You could read between the lines, learn a lot about a band by their contract riders.”

“A rider as in a proviso?”

“Yeah. For example, the band Van Halen demanded M & M’s with all of the brown one’s eighty-sixed.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean grins.  “Taken out. They wanted all of the brown ones taken out.”

“That’s absurd.  Each package is rife with brown ones.”

“Exactly. And that’s why everyone thought they were just full of themselves making obnoxious demands. But it turns out they put that it in there just as a way to be sure that the more important terms were being taken care of too.  And let’s see, AC/DC wanted cheese and crackers, Motley Crue asked for a submachine gun and a snake, Nine Inch Nails needed cornstarch, probably for their leather pants.”

Castiel’s forehead creases, and Dean knows he is thinking about that last one. “I don’t understand. What does cornstarch have to do with pants made of animal hide?”

“That’s not an image you need to have in your head right now, so I’m gonna do you a favor and pretend I never heard that question.”

“Oh. All right.”  

“But these guys, Zeppelin, they just wanted an iron, so they could iron their own shirts.”

“How do you know the terms of these performance agreements?”

“I guess you’d call it a hobby.  We traveled all over the country with our dad when we were kids.  Spent a lot of time in the car, so me and my brother, we read a lot,” Dean explains as he starts the car and they head back toward the paved road. “Go ahead and quiz me.  Tell me the name of a classic band, and I’ll tell you what was in their rider.”

Castiel screws up his mouth.  “I don’t really know the names of musical groups.  Or I don’t remember.  I’m not even sure what kind of music I like.”

“Oh, right. We are definitely going to fix that.”

“How?”

“How? Well we can start with that box of tapes right there.” 

Dean looks over at Castiel, who is back into the box of cassettes that has him fascinated, pulling several out at once and dropping them onto his lap. He holds one up, brings it close to his face and reads the label.  “Aerosmith?”

“Ah, yeah, okay.  Their contract called for twelve dozen bath towels backstage.”

“One hundred forty-four towels?  That’s strange.  How many people are in that band Sam?  Why would they need that many towels?”

“Five.” Dean raises his brows. “And one can only imagine.”

Castiel half-shrugs, shakes his head a little. 

Even though he’s starving, Dean settles for a drive through biscuit and coffee on their way back to Rexford while Castiel shoves tape after tape into the player, listening to some for only seconds before he hits the eject button, shuffling through entire tracks on others. 

It’s a little disappointing that Castiel doesn’t love Zeppelin, but it turns out that he actually does enjoy classic rock, with Boston and Steppenwolf earning immediate thumbs up. 

“I’ve never been to Yellowstone Park.”  Castiel’s eyes fix on the passing landscape outside of the car window.

“We could go,” Dean says, and he likes the idea as soon as he says it. He’s never been there either, but there’s a waterfall and a geyser and few other things that could lead to another overnight stay with Castiel.  He needs as many opportunities as he can muster, because the clock is ticking.  “I think there’s a mini grand canyon in there that’s worth seeing.”

Castiel thinks about it for a full, long minute before he responds.  “I would truly enjoy that Sam,” he says. “But I do have plans for tonight.”

Aw, fuck, that’s right.  Dean had forgotten all about Castiel’s date with Nora.  But apparently Castiel hasn’t, and even the mention of it seems to perk Castiel up as he sits next to Dean with a dopey grin plastered across his face.

“Perhaps we can do that another time?” Castiel asks.  “I can take an extra day off next week and we can make a trip of it.  We could bring some equipment, like a tent and sleeping bags, so we can camp out properly rather than in the back of the car.” 

“Yeah, sure, why not.”  Dean’s head nod is exaggerated.   Next week is too late.  Castiel must fall in love _now_.  He does his best to not sound disappointed.  “Not like I can compete with a hot date. Beautiful blondes always have the upper hand, am I right?”

Castiel makes a muffled sound, something akin to a giggle, and he playfully shoves Dean on the shoulder.  “I like brunettes too,” he says.  “Nora can tell me some things about my past.  I believe that’s the only upper hand she holds.”

The irony is almost too much for Dean, and he bites hard into his bottom lip to keep the words on the tip of his tongue from slipping out. 

"Wait.  How do you know Nora has blonde hair?"

Jesus Christ, he has to be more careful.  "Huh?  What?"

“I said how do you-- " Castiel doesn't finish the question.  "Never mind.  How do you feel about lunch, Sam?”  Castiel slides another tape into the player.

“I love lunch,” Dean says.  “More than lunch may ever know, at this rate.  You game?”

“I’m game.” Castiel says. 

______________________________

 

Dean is hungry again, or still hungry.   But what he really needs is a drink, or, perhaps more accurately, he needs to put a few drinks into Castiel if they’re going to get this love show on the road. He prefers to do that in a setting he is familiar and comfortable with, so they stop at a small corner bar off of the nearest exit and order plates of food to share.  Castiel barely touches any of it, which has Dean more than marginally concerned, but at Dean’s urging, he does take a shot of whiskey, and then another, and then two more before he switches to beer.  He’s not the lightweight he was when he was human, but he’s finally tipsy, tapping his feet now, sucking on his fourth or fifth bottle of beer - Dean’s lost count at this point - and not at all in a hurry to leave this place.  To Dean’s chagrin, he thinks it may be because of the country music being played on a jukebox in the corner rather than the company.

“I might like one of those.”  Castiel points to one of the many men seated at the bar.

“You mean the cowboy or the hat?” 

“The hat of course.  I don’t even know that man, Sam.”  Dean considers Castiel’s response.  He can work with the possibilities it doesn’t rule out. 

“Yeah, okay Sundance.”  Dean nods. “You wanna be a cowboy?”

Castiel purses his lips, thinking about it.  “It doesn’t sound awful.” 

“Well I’ll be damned” Dean drawls.  “Is it the music?  It’s the music, isn’t it.”

Castiel nods.  “This is nothing like what we’ve played so far in your car.  Do you have any of this kind of music in your box?”

“Not exactly.  I’ve got some Lynyrd Skynyrd. They’re southern rock and they’re one of my favorites.  More metal, less twang.  The best of both worlds.”

Castiel leans back in his chair and raises his head, eyes closed.  “When you listen to the words, these songs are simple to understand.  The use of metaphor is minimal and the meanings are clear.”

“You cheated on me and broke my heart so now I’m going to fuck up your truck?” Dean mocks.  “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty simple.”

“It’s honest, not trying to be something it’s not.  It’s direct, no beating around the bush.  It makes me… makes me…” his brows push together, create small creases between his eyes as he slants his head slightly, searching for the right word.  “ _Feel_.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that.  “Feel what?”

“Just… things.”

“Good things?”

“Mostly, yes.” 

The way Castiel wraps his lips around his bottle of beer and takes a pull fascinates Dean, has him imagining things that he has only dreamed of.  Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of change.  “Go pick out some more songs while I go see a man about a horse.”

Castiel blinks as Dean stands. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Dean explains.

“Oh.” Castiel stands up as well. “And that man is in the bathroom?”

Dean drops his head and laughs, grabs Castiel by the shoulder and squeezes. “You really are something else, you know that?  It’s just a saying. I’m going to take a…to urinate.” He glances around the crowded room.  The cowboy clientele in here looks a little rough, but he has reason to believe that even amnesia Castiel can take care of himself, based on their first encounter at the library. Still he hesitates to leave his friend.  He understands now why women tend to use the restroom in pairs.

Dean drops the change into Castiel’s palm and Castiel’s fingers fold around his wrist, hold his hand there while he looks at Dean with a sheepish, lopsided smile. His fingers brush purposely along the sensitive skin there, and Dean swallows.  He would give almost anything to not have nature calling him right now, to just wrap his hand around Castiel’s hand and pull him closer. Goddamned bladder.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, just as the phone in his pocket begins to vibrate. “Why don’t you pick out what you want to hear on that country jukebox.”  He puts his mouth to Castiel’s ear, his voice low so only he can hear him.  “And then we’ll see just how many good things we can get you feeling today.”

Castiel gulps.  “All right.” He lets go of Dean, closes his hand around the coins, and ambles toward the jukebox.

 ______________________________

 

Even when he is a thousand miles away, Sam is a cock block.  Dean answers the call once he’s inside the restroom.

“What?” Dean snarls into the phone.  He doesn't have time for this now.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Okay then.”  Sam sounds out of breath.  “Listen, I’m here in Rexford and –“

“What? You’re where?”

“Rexford.” Sam huffs.  “Where I thought you were.”

“What’s with the heavy breathing?  Did you run there?”

“Funny, Dean.   Look, I’ve been talking to people, and I’m just a little.... Where are you, anyway?”

Dean doesn’t know the name of the bar.  He looks around the bathroom for some clue, but doesn’t find one. “I don’t know. Some cowboy dive in Montana.”

“You’re in Montana?”

“Long story. Why are you in Rexford?”

“Never mind why.  I came to the library and met a woman named Maggie.  Then after my conversation with her, I drove over to the Gas-n-Sip.”

“What the hell are you doing at the Gas-n-Sip?” 

“Getting gas and taquitos," he responds wryly.  "What do you think I’m doing here?  I’m investigating. Did you know that Cas is seeing a woman who works here?”

“I know that.  Nora. He has a date with her tonight.”

“And did you know that Cas worked here when he was human?”

“Yeah. I knew that too.”

“Jesus, Dean, you left all of that out when you updated me,” Sam complains.  He's angry. “And did you also know that when Cas worked here, he and Nora had a relationship?”

“Yeah, I…what?  No! I did not know that. He babysat for her. That’s it.”

“Right. Well if he was the babysitter I guess she was the pizza man,” Sam snaps.  “Because she made it pretty clear to me that they were… uhm… together. Called him Steve. Said he was her boyfriend.”

“What?”

“She went on and on about him.  Told me how special he is.  That he’s the best thing that ever happened to her.  That he’s strong and kind and loving.”

“She said _loving_?”

“She said loving.”

“No. It’s not true… I mean, it’s not possible…” Dean grits his teeth, rubs his hand across his forehead because despite what he is saying to Sam, it _is_ possible.  In fact, it’s very possible.  When Dean dropped Castiel off at the Gas-n-Sip the morning after they killed the Rit Zien, he left him with nothing more than some cowardly speech about being proud of him.  It wasn’t what he wanted to say, or what he should have said to him, but he did what he thought he had to do at the time and he can’t change it now.  Dean had always hoped to come back for Castiel, if at all possible, once Sam was strong enough to expel the angel inside him, but Castiel couldn’t know that, had no way of knowing that and it makes perfect sense that the depressed, vulnerable, and very human man he left behind that day would accept comfort where it was offered.

“Why would she lie?”

“I don’t know,” Dean barks.  He tries to think of some reason, but from the limited contact he had with Nora, she was sincere, genuine, like Castiel, and he comes up with nothing.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”  Sam’s tone softens. “It’s important because it might… change things?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I always figured that Cas was tethered here because of, well, you.” Sam hesitates before he continues. “But since it seems he’s specifically tethered to Rexford, where he was apparently with Nora, maybe that thing Hannah was talking about is, well...” 

Sam stops, but not saying the words out loud doesn’t make them easier for Dean to hear.

It’s not Dean.

“Dean, it’s only a possibility.  Another option we have to consider and…”

Sam keeps talking but Dean’s not listening.  His ribs hurt.  They tighten and make it hard to breathe.  He bends over slightly, takes a few deep breaths, ignores the faint drone of Sam’s voice from the phone he’s holding against his chest.

It’s not Dean. Dean is not the reason Castiel asked to stay here.  Dean is not the tether, and he’s confounded, ashamed that he had deluded himself into believing that he was.

After several moments, he straightens his back, brings the phone up to his ear. “I’ll call you later,” he says, and disconnects quickly.

He hears Lynyrd Skynyrd playing as soon as he finishes up and exits the restroom. Castiel is still at the jukebox, leaning on it with both arms, his hips swaying slowly in time to the music, _dancing_ , to fucking _Freebird_.  Dean stands at the end of the bar, watches him from behind for more than a minute. He takes it all in, commits it to memory because he’s never seen anything like it before, probably never will again.

“Hey, Sam.” Castiel hums the name when Dean approaches, looks up at him with hooded eyes.  “I’ve been thinking.  What if we _do_ stay tonight?  I can call Nora and reschedule, and we can turn around and go back to Yellowstone.” Castiel lays both hands on Dean’s chest, fumbles with the buttons on his Henley.  “Or we can just stay here for a while, have a few more drinks, get a room later.”

What the hell has he been doing with his best friend?  Getting him drunk, seducing him as if he’s just another one of the many nameless, faceless people Dean has hooked up with in whatever post hunt towns he ends up in throughout the years.  Even in his dreams he takes advantage, uses him.  Castiel means more than that.  Castiel deserves more than that.

It's hard to resist the man standing in front of him now, only inches away and looking up at him coyly, expectantly.  Even if the love that could keep Castiel here isn’t his, he wants right now to say yes, to spend every minute of every day with him until he can’t anymore. But it wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right, and it’s time to do right by Castiel.  Dean’s always been an all or nothing kind of guy anyway. 

“That sounds nice.” Dean quavers, takes both of Castiel’s hands in his and pulls them away from his shirt.  “But I don’t think so, buddy.  What we _should_ do is get some coffee in you and head on back to Rexford.  Nora’s waiting.”

“Oh.” Castiel pulls his hands out of Dean’s as he steps back and away, drops his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry, I must be... it must be the alcohol.  For a minute I thought… ” He mumbles the words, then looks up again, his cheeks flushed. “Excuse me, I believe I have to see a horse,” he says.  “Or a man and a horse.  In the restroom.“

Dean would normally be amused at Castiel’s inability to grasp the jargon, because it’s so Cas-like, but he can’t feel it right now, can’t feel anything good, in any sense of the word, as he watches Castiel walk away from him.

Castiel wants to stay on earth, so Dean has no choice but to let him go. 


	8. History

After swallowing four aspirin and a pint of water, Castiel slept in the car all the way back to Rexford, and then some more on the couch once they got to the apartment.  Dean ignores the constant buzzing of his phone while he goes through Castiel’s closet one last time.  He finds the trench coat still in the very back of it, a thin layer of dust on the collar and shoulders.  It’s been untouched, rejected since it was hung there six months ago.  It’s traditional and business-like, not really Steven Dean’s style, he imagines.  He shuts the closet door and makes a full pot of coffee before he gently shakes Castiel awake.

“It’s seven,” Dean tells him.  “You need to—“

“I know.”  Castiel cuts him off as he pulls himself up.  He sits back on the sofa and presses his palms against his eyes.  “I’m going to reschedule.  I’m not feeling up to it.”

“No,” Dean says too quickly.  “There’s no time.”

“No time?”  Castiel questions. 

“I mean, there’s no time like the present to find out what you want to know, from Nora.  She can tell you things, like what you like and don’t like. You won’t have to figure that out all over again.”

“I don’t mind that part of it.”

“She can tell you who you are.  She can tell you what matters to you. And maybe you can…”

“I can what?”

“Pick up where you left off.  Be happy.”

“I’m not unhappy now.”

“Yeah, but you could be… happy with her.”

Castiel looks at him, head dropped to one side, brows pushed together.  “Sam, do you know something about me that I don’t know?”

Dean breathes in deeply, exhales slowly. _Yes_ , he says in his head.  _I know that you were my best friend, my savior, the love of my progressively pathetic life_.  Dean chooses his next words carefully.  “No, man.  How could I?  I just met you three days ago.”

Castiel sighs, then stands up.  “I’m going to shower now.”

______________________________

 

Castiel comes out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and a striped button down shirt.  He’s thinner now, and his hair is longer, but other than that, he looks like the man Dean left at the Gas-n-Sip more than a year ago; he looks like Steve.

Castiel stands in front of him, his arms open but low, out to his sides.  “Is this appropriate for tonight?” he asks.

Dean’s mouth is dry.  He licks roughly at his lips while he nods.  “You look good.  Very handsome.”

“Thank you.”  Castiel crosses his arms in front of him, glances down at the bag by Dean’s feet.  “You’re not going to be here when I get back, are you.”

“No.”  Dean says. 

“Don’t go,” Castiel pleads softly.  ”I don’t want you to leave, Sam.  I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I was confused and I, I… I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not it,” Dean says.  “My brother’s here.  In town.  Visiting. He has a motel room, so.” Dean stands up.  “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Steve.  Not a thing.” 

Castiel drops his head.  “Good.  I’d hate it if I've messed up the only real friendship I’ve known since… well since I can remember.”

“You didn’t.” Dean pats him on the shoulder, grins at him before he picks up his duffel and makes his way to the door. “See ya soon, Sundance.”

Castiel spins around.  “I’d like to meet your brother Bobby.  Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Dean says.  “We’ll do that tomorrow.”

Dean feels guilty about lying to Castiel. Sure, he’s lied to him before, has been lying to him ever since he came here.  And there’s always a reason, a justification for it, whether it’s for the greater good, or just for Sam, but this time it feels different.

Castiel waves at him as he closes the door behind him. He hops down the stairs two at a time; he can’t be here when Nora arrives.  Once he’s in the Impala, parked down the street and out of the way, he feels safe.  He unzips the canvas bag he had tossed on the seat beside him, reaches inside and clutches smooth, water-resistant, tan fabric between his fingers. 

It's his now, and Steve will never miss it.

 ______________________________

 

“Dean, we need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t Sam.”  Dean dumps his bag on the chair in the corner, then sits on the edge of the bed and begins to untie his boots.

“Yes.  We do.  You can’t just give up like this.”

“Giving up?  That’s the farthest thing from what I’m doing.” Dean pulls his boots off, one at a time, as he speaks.  “I’m stepping aside, Sam. Giving him a chance at true you-know-what with Nora. You said it yourself, they have a history.”

“ _You_ have a history with him, Dean.  A significant one.  How long could he have known Nora anyway?  A few months?  That’s nothing compared to--”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t remember _our_ history, and I can’t tell him because it could kill him, or even worse.”  Dean gets up, turns down the bedcovers, then sits on the mattress, facing Sam’s bed. “Besides, you’re the one who came up with all of that tether crap.  He’s tethered _here_ , not Kansas. To _her_ , not me.  It makes sense, Sam.”

“Maybe it _is_ crap.  Maybe I’m wrong about it.  I just think we should talk it through, assess all of the possibilities.“

“I’m tired.  I’m going to bed.  We can talk about it tomorrow, on the way home.”

“Home?  Really, Dean?  So that’s it? You’re just gonna—“

“There’s something I never told you,” Dean blurts out.

Sam narrows his eyes, pinches his lips into a tight, straight line.  “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”  Dean slaps his hands on his thighs, digs his fingers into the thick muscle there.  “I fucked up, Sam, when I let that angel in you.”

“We’re past that Dean, aren’t we?  I mean, everything we’ve been through since then…” Sam combs his hand through his hair.  “We’re past that.”

Dean looks down at his feet, nods.  “Yeah, well, remember when I went to Idaho to check out that case Cas called about?  That was here in Rexford.  I lied to you and Kevin.  I tracked Cas down through the phone, found him at the Gas-n-Sip.  I wanted to see him.  I needed to see him, you know?  Make sure he was okay.”

Sam’s face softens.  “Yeah, no, I get it.  What happened?”

“He liked working at the store.  He thought he had a date with Nora, and he seemed pretty happy about that.  He was scared, not having his powers, but other than that, I thought he was okay. But I was wrong. He wasn’t okay, and that mercy killing angel came after him.  He ended up with a sliced up hand and a sprained wrist.”

“He was human.”

Dean glances at Sam briefly, looks down again. “After I took care of the body, I went back and picked him up, brought him back to the motel to patch him up.  Wherever he’d been staying, he didn’t want me to know.  He slept like a baby, mostly, and I just sat there and watched him. All night long. Couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It was hard, kicking him out of the bunker, because he needed me.  But that night it hit me, it hit me like a fucking ton of bricks. The reason it hurt so much wasn’t because he needed me, because he really didn’t.  It hurt so goddamned much because I needed him.”

“Dean, I’m so sorry.”

Dean looks up at his brother sitting across from him, facing him, and grins weakly.  “I wanted to bring him home, and he would've come, but that wasn’t possible. If I had, maybe this whole thing would be… he wouldn’t have had to…”  He doesn’t bother to finish; he’s sure Sam gets the point. He falls back on the bed, rolls onto his side, pulls his knees up, and closes his eyes.

______________________________

 

“Hannah!”  Dean yells out from his perch on the edge of the motel room bed, hands folded together in a prayer-like manner.  “I need to talk to you.  Now. So flap your angel ass down here, or in here, or whatever the hell you have to do to talk to me, ASAP!”

“Hannah?”  Someone says.  It’s Castiel, who sits on the bed next to him.

Dean rubs at his eyes.  “Cas, I’m dreaming, right?  This is a dream?”  He thought it was a dream, was pretty sure it’s a dream, but Castiel is dressed in the striped button down shirt and jeans he was wearing tonight, and Dean doesn’t understand why his mind is making dream Castiel, for the second time, show up in Steve’s clothes.

“What did you call me?”  Castiel asks, but he doesn’t wait for Dean’s response. He pushes his lips against Dean’s, lays one hand on Dean’s shoulder, the other one on the square of his jaw.

Dean offers no resistance.  He slides his hand down Castiel’s chest and over his lap, feels him through his jeans. 

“Sam,” Castiel moans softly.

Dean rubs up and down, his mouth never leaving Castiel’s, until he hears it again.

“Sam.”

Dean withdraws, pulls away from Castiel so he can study him.  He looks dazed, even more bewildered than Dean is right now.  “Who are you?” Dean asks.  

“It’s me,” Castiel says, his voice wavering, uncertain. “I’m…” He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut.  “I’m not sure. Tell me.  You know, don’t you?  Please tell me.”

He can tell him, Dean thinks, because this is just a dream, _his_ dream, and he can explain to him that he’s nothing more than an image formed in Dean's mind of the angel Castiel, of the man that he loves.  The man he has loved silently, to himself, in his dreams for a long time.

Dream Castiel’s eyes are not glazed over with lust, not heavy with want, as Dean has come to expect and enjoy. Tonight they are wide and sharp, flitting around the room before locking on Dean’s own eyes and relaxing. His lashes flutter slightly, and all Dean sees is familiar blue and a glint, a sparkle of something that is real and true.

This is not dream Castiel.  This is _his_ Castiel.  Cas. Despite the suppression of his angel powers, he’s managed somehow to walk into Dean’s dreams, not only now, but last night too.  Dean is convinced of it.

Dean’s heart pounds loudly.  He can hear it, and he knows Castiel can too. “I don’t know what to do,” Dean tells Castiel.  It’s the truth. He wants to tell him something, everything, but his fear of what that will do to Castiel stops him.  Maybe, though, he can give him one thing,  One small, insignificant truth that Castiel – Steve - can keep.

“I’m Dean.”  He whispers it, because saying the words feels forbidden.

"Dean,” Castiel repeats, then smiles, says it again. “Dean.”

“Dean!”  Someone is shaking him, saying his name.  “Dean!” 

It’s Sam.  He recognizes the worried voice in his ear.  “Dean, are you okay?”

Dean opens his eyes slowly, unwillingly, then scowls at his brother.   “What the hell, Sam?” he says.  “I was in the middle of what may just turn out to be the best dream I’ve ever had.”


	9. Dreams

“I think I found something.  In this book.”  Sam’s gone back to the small round table by the motel window. The angel book lies open in front of him, next to a half-empty carton of milk and a stack of banana peels.

“Have you been reading that all night?”

Sam nods.  “Basically. This book, it’s pretty informative. Claims are that it was written by a fallen angel who somehow retained his memory of his past existence. Where did you get this?”

“Cas stole it for me.”

“Cas…what?  Did you say he stole it for you?  Where? Why?”

“It was in a library in Montana.  That’s why we were over there; on a field trip to get this book.”  Dean grins at the memory. “Oh and yeah, he thinks I’m writing a book about angels.  Long story.”

“Ohhh...kay.”

“So what did you find?  Let’s hear it.”

Sam’s back straightens in his chair, signals his oncoming educational lecture.  Dean’s always thought Sam would make a great teacher, in another life. “Well, you know how we were working with the idea that the tether was some kind of connection based on an existing bond to someone or something?  Like Cas’s bond with you?”

“Or Steve’s bond with Nora.”

“Maybe,” Sam frowns.  “Anyway, the book describes something pretty similar. Listen to this.” Sam leans closer to the book, puts his finger on the page and moves it along as he reads.  “A fragmentary fetter has been documented and can occur when a celestial being is unexpectedly removed from a temporal plane without resolution of a matter or circumstance deemed to be of utmost significance. Although rare, this phenomena is likely a by-product of collision between the angel’s goal–driven nature and absorbed yet fractured elements of human behaviors.”  Sam turns to Dean.  “Dean, I think whoever wrote this book really was an angel.”

“He sure as hell sounds like one.  What does all that mean?”

“I think it means that something began here, in Rexford, that was important to Cas.  Something that, in his mind, was left unfinished.  Something compelling enough to create some kind of angelic restraint.”

“Nora.”

“You keep saying that, but that doesn’t really make sense.  Whatever kind of relationship he had with her, he left Nora and Rexford to start hunting again on his own volition.  Remember? He quit his job, said his goodbyes, I’m sure, before he left.  It’s not a situation where he had no choice or say.  There’s no reason he’d still need any kind of closure.”

“Then what else could it be?”

“Think about it, Dean. When you were here, was there anything, anything at all that was left unresolved?  Was there anything you started here that Cas might want to…finish?”

“No.  I told him I was proud of him.  He had to work, so I dropped him off at the store.   He wanted to keep on doing what he was doing. I told him to not worry about the angels, that you and I would take of all that.  And then we said goodbye.”

“Like, forever goodbye?”

“Yeah.  That’s how I left it, and that’s how he took it.  I was going to come back for him as soon as you were good again, but he didn’t know that.  I couldn’t tell him that.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing else?” Sam’s brows and lips pinch together.

“Not that I can think of.  Anyway, what does that have to do with the uh, you know, the thing Hannah said?” 

“Could be nothing.  Or it could be everything.”  Sam closes the book and sighs, one of those long, deep ones that lets Dean know that he doesn’t believe him.  But Dean’s not lying, not this time at least.  Except for the recent dream walking with Steve, and what happened at the bar in Montana, and the fact that he has a stolen trench coat hidden in his duffel bag, he’s told Sam about everything he remembers.  

“Go to bed, Sammy,” Dean yawns, then flattens himself on the bed.  “We’ve got a few hours until morning, and a long drive ahead of us.  Get some sleep.”

“Before we leave, I want to see Cas,” Sam tells him.

“What?  You can’t Sam, he might –“

“I didn’t just come here to help you. I came to see him. I may never get another chance.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not the only one here who has something to lose, Dean.  He’s my friend. My brother.  I love him too, and I need to see him at least one last time.”

That’s right.  The angel and his brother had gradually, over time, become good friends. But thanks to the series of piss poor choices Dean made in the year before Castiel went missing, the two grew closer than ever, working together tirelessly to save Dean from himself.

“I’ll be careful,” Sam pleads.  “I won't speak to him.  I promise I’ll –“

“No, you’re right,” Dean says.  “We’ll go see him at the library.  We can stop by in the morning, but we can’t stay, you got that?  In and out.”

“Dean,” Sam shakes his head.

It’s a good idea.  Dean wants to see Castiel one last time now too. And if Castiel recognizes him from the dreams, well they’ll just have to play it by ear.  “He’s expecting to meet you tomorrow anyway. We can both say goodbye.”

“He’s what?”

“I’ll explain later.  Now sleep,” he orders.  “I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day.”  He closes his eyes, hopes that he can pick up his dream where he left off.

 ______________________________

 

He sits up abruptly and looks around him. The bed beside his is empty; Sam is nowhere in sight.  Good. He prefers to have a little privacy while he’s asleep.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, eyes closed.  “I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming again. So if you have your ears on, come on in if you can.  I mean, if you want to.  I want you to.”

“That’s not a good idea, Dean.”  Hannah’s voice is soft and low, almost affectionate. “I know this is difficult for you, but it will only make matters worse for him.”

Dean scrubs his hand over his face. “He wants me to tell him, Hannah. He wants to know who he is.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does.  But the consequences are…”

“Yeah, you’ve told me. I get it.  But it’s not fair.  There has to be a way…”

“They don’t know I’m here, Dean,” Hannah sighs. “I have to be quick. Time is running out. Castiel will be returning to heaven in twenty-one hours, and a decision will be made immediately.”

“Already?”  Dean throws his legs over the side of the bed and sits on the edge of it, his back to his visitor.  He squeezes the mattress with both hands.  “Get an extension, Hannah.  I need more time.” 

“I warned you that there were less than five days remaining last time we spoke, Dean.   He’s already in danger.  The partition is failing, and every minute he remains here he is at risk.” Hannah moves around the bed to stand directly in front of Dean.  “There can be no extension.”

“Why is he tethered – or fettered – or whatever you guys call it - here? Why Rexford?  Is this where his true...whatever.... is this where it is?”

Hannah tilts her head slightly, then lowers her eyes. “Your memory is faulty.”

“My memory is perfectly fine, thank you very much,” Dean spits out, knowing it’s a lie.  There’s still an entire day and the removal of the Mark of Cain missing from his timeline.  “What’s not fine is whatever game you angel dicks are playing with Cas’s head.  What does some goddamned trial matter anyway? If he wants to stay here, one angel on earth isn’t going to hurt anything, as long as the rest of you stay the hell out of Dodge.  Especially if that angel is Cas.”  

“Did it ever occur to you that Castiel is not the subject of the trial allowed by the Council?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Dean stands, indignant.  “Look, quit with the cryptic bullshit. I don’t have time to sudoku this all out.  You’re the ones who turned this whole thing into some Nicholas Sparks novel, so why can’t you just let him live happily ever after with Nora?”

“Who is Nora?”  Hannah says, confused.  “Who is this Nicholas Sparks? I don’t understand. What exactly is it that you want, Dean Winchester?”

“This isn’t about what _I_ want.  This is about Cas, and it’s about time that he gets what he wants.  It about time he gets to be happy.  Help me, Hannah.  Please.  Help him.”

“I can only assist in clearing your mind, easing the way for your memories.” She glances upward one time, quickly, before she presses two fingers to his forehead.  “It will help if you remember everything.  I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Hannah disappears from the motel room and suddenly Sam is there, lying still, fast asleep in the bed beside him. Dean’s not even sure anymore if he is still dreaming, but it feels like he is.  He closes his eyes and lays back down on the bed, tries to sleep within his sleep, dream within his dream, do whatever it takes to access his memories of the short time he spent in Rexford with Castiel.

______________________________

_“I have it, Dean.”  Castiel reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small, glowing bottle._

_They are in the bunker, in Dean’s bedroom.  “What is that?  And did you just zap in here, Cas?”_

_“I have my wings back,” he says, but he sounds out of breath, hurried.  “All the angels do.  The spell has been reversed.   And this, this is my grace.  It’s been recovered, and we must use it.”_

_“To get you back up to speed?”_

_“No. To get rid of the Mark.”_

_Dean instinctively grabs his own arm, covers the Mark with his hand.  He can feel it throbbing, pulsating faster and faster, as if reacting to the bottled up energy in Castiel’s hand._

_“What do you mean?”_

_Castiel holds the vial up for inspection.  “From that which it is begotten, so shall it end.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Metatron was right,” Castiel clarifies.  “He told you that the river ends at the source.  I presumed that he meant Lucifer, but I was mistaken. The source of the Mark of Cain is grace.  Lucifer’s grace, but grace, nonetheless. I can rid you of the Mark with my grace.”_

_“And then power yourself up?”_

_“No.”_

_“Why not?”_

_Castiel responds stoically. “My grace will be consumed in the process.”_

_“Consumed? Then what happens to you?”_

_“That is of no concern.”_

_“Bullshit.” Dean raises both hands, backs away from Castiel.  “You’re not getting near me with that stuff until you tell me what happens to you. And tell me the truth.”_

_Castiel follows Dean.  “I will…remain as I am.”_

_“You mean burning out?  Dying?”_

_“Dean—“_

_“No!”_

_“Dean. It’s the only way.”_

_“Get another angel’s grace.  I’ll do it with some other angel’s grace.”_

_“I would not allow that even if that was possible.  It can’t be just any angel’s grace.   It has to be…”_

_“It has to be what?”_

_Castiel shakes his head, clutches the bottle of grace in his fist.  “It has to be a sacrifice.  A sacrifice borne of…”_

_“Of what?”_

_“Dean, when you came to Rexford and found me, I heard you. In the motel."_ _  
_

_He doesn’t know what Castiel means by that.  When they went to Dean’s motel, Dean bandaged Castiel’s hand and wrist, and Castiel fell asleep on the bed.  He thought about a lot of things, many things, but he said nothing. “What?  What are you talking about?”_

_"You thought I was asleep, but I had woken.  I heard what you said and…” Castiel moves closer.  “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”_

_Castiel reaches for him, hand open, lays his palm against Dean’s cheek. Dean’s arms fall to his side, his knees buckle; every muscle relaxes before he even has time to fight it.  He feels Castiel catch him as his body gives way and he falls into a deep, empty, sleep._

______________________________

“Sam,” Dean hollers at his brother who is still asleep on top of the covers.  “Sammy! Get up!”

Sam wakes up with a start, jolts upright, eyes darting around the room until they settle on Dean.  “What’s happening?  You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says.  “It’s just…time to get up.”

“Right,” Sam frowns.  “You want to hurry up so we can get on the road.”

“Nope.”  Dean hops out of bed and grabs his bag, heads for the shower. “We’re not going anywhere little brother.  We're staying in Rexford.”


	10. Memories

He’s not sure why he picked up the business card. He didn’t like the hippie wannabe, not one bit; didn’t appreciate the way he was leering at Castiel at the farmer’s market.  But he’s glad now that he grabbed one off of the display table at his booth and shoved it in his pocket before following Castiel to the fruit and vegetable stands.

Sam comes out of the motel room, looking somewhat annoyed, just as Dean pulls into the space in front of it.  He drops his backpack in the trunk, then takes his place next to Dean in the front passenger seat.

“That took longer than expected.” Sam opens the white paper sack of food set on the seat between them.  “Did you at least get me fruit like I asked?”

“There’s an apple pie in there, or a turnover, or something like that,” Dean says. 

“Pie is not fruit,” Sam huffs, but pulls it out of the bag anyway and looks it over.  “This is a fritter, Dean.”

“Oh yeah?  Well whatever it is, it’s good.”  Dean smirks at Sam.  “And you’re welcome.”

Sam chucks the fritter back into the sack. “There’s nothing healthy in here to eat, is there.”

“Probably not.”

“Awesome,” Sam says wryly.  “So, where are we headed to now?”

“The library.  And just so you know, your name is Bobby.”

“Bobby?”  Sam raises his brows.   “Okay.”

“And I’m Sam, and Cas was Dean but now he’s Steve,” Dean says. “Got it?”

Sam nods enthusiastically.  “Yep, got it.”

“Good,” Dean taps his hand on the steering wheel. “Here goes nothing.”

Sam reaches into the bag and pulls out the fritter again. “Yeah.  Here goes nothing.”

 ______________________________

 

Dean spots Castiel working behind the desk. Maggie is there too, as Dean suspected she might be.  Since Sam was in here yesterday, using his boyish good looks and charm to pry information about Castiel out of her, Dean decided it would be best to have Castiel come outside to meet his brother.  Conveniently, it also allows him a few minutes alone with Castiel.

Castiel stops mid-checkout when he sees Dean, smiles readily.  Dean steps aside, waits for him to finish what he’s doing before he approaches him. “Hey,” Castiel says.

“Hey, Steve.”  Dean nods and winks at Maggie at the other end of the long reception desk, rests one hip against the counter in front of Castiel. “My brother Bobby’s here.”

“He’s here?”  Castiel cranes his neck and scans the room.  “Where is he?”

“Outside.  Come on out and meet him.”

“Why don’t you bring him in here, Sam? We can sit and talk for a few minutes. We have the place to ourselves. It’s very slow. No one’s around today.” Castiel gathers up several books on the counter and drops them onto a cart behind him.

Dean shoves his hands in his pocket. He probably should have planned this better.  “He, uh, he can’t come in.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugs.  “He just… he has this thing about libraries.  He doesn’t like libraries.”

“That’s odd.”

“Not really.  I mean, ordinarily, yes, but not in his case.  See, he was… stuck under a pile of books once in a library when he was a kid.  A little kid.  A, uhm, stack of books fell on him, and trapped him under there.”

“Sam, that’s horrible! Did a bookcase tip over?”

“Yes.”  Dean wags his finger.  “That is exactly what happened.  Otherwise how would so many books fall on him at once?  A bookcase tipped over and boom.”  Dean slams his hand on the counter for effect.  “He’s buried under books.”

Castiel blinks, startled by the sudden noise. “And the bookcase too, I imagine?”

“That makes sense.”  Dean nods.  “Yep. The bookcase too. So you can understand why he can’t bring himself to come inside.”

“Yes, I do.”  Castiel waves at Maggie to get her attention, then calls to her with a stifled, librarian voice.  “Do you mind if I take my break now?”

Maggie laughs, waves back indifferently. “Nothing’s going on here, honey. Take all the time you need.”

Dean looks over at Maggie, who is somehow able to watch them and scan books at the same time.  “Look, before you meet my brother, can I talk to you about something for a minute?  Alone?”

“Of course.” Castiel steps out from behind the desk and leads Dean down the short hallway that ends with restrooms, takes a sharp turn into a small break room. 

Dean looks around briefly to make sure they truly are alone, and when he is satisfied that they have not been followed, he slips his hands inside his jacket and takes out an item he’s had concealed there. He shakes it out, then offers it to Castiel.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the one you liked.”

At first, Castiel’s mouth falls open when he sees it, his pink lips forming a nearly perfect oval as he accepts the gift. Dean thinks about Castiel’s lips, dry but inviting.  He remembers how it felt when he touched them that night at the motel, how it made his heart race and his skin prickle, how much he wanted to kiss them, but didn’t. Couldn’t. 

“…did this for me.”  Castiel was saying something, but Dean missed it.

He watches Castiel smooth the feathers of the dream catcher, then hold it up with one hand and study the spiral design as if some secret was woven within it.

“I wanted you to have something to keep the bad ones away,” Dean says after several long seconds of admiring Castiel’s fingers while they continued to caress the delicate feathers.  “In case you do start to dream.”

“Thank you.”  Castiel swallows the tail end of the words.  “Your timing is remarkable, Sam.” 

“Oh really?  Have you been dreaming?”

Castiel’s astonished gaze moves from the dream catcher to Dean.  “Yes. It began only recently. How did you know?”

 _Because those were my dreams_ , Dean thinks.  He would tell him if he wasn’t afraid it would blow his mind. “Just a good guess.” He gives him a one-shoulder shrug. “But that’s great, eh? It’s what you wanted? The dreams are good ones, I hope.”

"They were quite nice.  Both times.”  A blush spreads up Castiel’s neck.  “Sam, I’m not sure my words can adequately convey how moved I am by this gift,” Castiel says, but the way he ducks his head and averts his eyes tells Dean everything he needs to know. 

Dean’s phone vibrates.  He wants to ignore it, tries to ignore it, but even Castiel can hear its relentless rattle in his pocket.

“Perhaps you should answer that.  It might be your brother.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m sure it is, because _his_ timing sucks.”

Castiel chuckles a little under his breath at Dean’s exaggerated irritation.  Dean pulls out his phone, makes a small noise akin to a gasp that he covers up with a cough when he sees the text.

_Nora here. On her way in._

He can’t let Nora see him.  Although he never even spoke to her when he'd visited Castiel at the Gas-n-Sip, she saw him, got a good look at him at the store and then again later at her house.   He has no doubt that she’ll recognize him.

“Hey, uh, Steve.  I’m going to hit the head.”

“That’s another euphemism for using the restroom, isn’t it?” Castiel grins, pleased with himself.   “How many of those do you have?” 

“A boat load.”  He nudges Castiel toward the library entrance with his elbow. “I’ll meet you out front.”

Once inside, Dean can breathe freely again. He leans up against the back of the bathroom door and texts Sam.  Sam tells him that Nora didn’t see him, that he was still in the car and she never looked his way.  Dean is relieved.

Dean peeks out of the door.  The angle isn’t perfect, but he can see Castiel standing near the front door, chatting with Nora.  She nods while he shows her the dream catcher, and when she reaches up and pets his cheek, he smiles. 

Dean slams the door shut.  Castiel hasn’t mentioned his date with Nora last night, but since he managed to stroll into Dean’s slumber, Dean wants to believe that that means something, that the angel’s subconscious was making a choice, was choosing him. Yet, she’s come here to visit him, and seeing her touch him like that, with affection and familiarity, makes his stomach wrench. But Dean still has time, he has until midnight, and he intends to not waste a minute of it.

He’s still flat against the bathroom door when his phone goes off again with a message from Sam, letting him know that Nora has left. Dean washes his hands, splashes some water on his face and dries himself off before leaving the restroom. Castiel is alone, waiting for him by the front door.

“Sam,” he calls to him.  “You just missed Nora.  I would’ve liked for you to meet her, but she ran out to pick up some coffee.”

“Oh, too bad,” Dean says, manages to muster a disappointed frown.  “Next time.”

“Next time,” Castiel repeats, then points to the door. “But at least I get to meet Bobby now.”

Sam is slumped down in the Impala’s passenger seat when Dean and Castiel reach the car.  He springs up and out awkwardly, shuts the door behind him.

Dean flaps his arm between them.  “Steve, Bobby.  Bobby, Steve.”

Castiel sticks his hand out first.  “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Bobby.”

“Likewise.”  Sam clasps Castiel’s hand in both of his, shakes it.   “De- I mean Sam, my brother here, whose name is Sam, obviously…” 

Dean clears his throat.  “Yeah, yeah, Bobby.   We all know who we are.”

“Right.  Well Sam here, he hasn’t stopped talking about you since I got into town. Before that, actually. On the phone it’s always Steve this and Steve that.”

Dean side-eyes Sam, kicks his ankle while he makes a mental note to pick up some super glue for revenge when this is all over and the three of them are driving back to the bunker.  He changes his mind when he sees how Castiel’s face beams.

“In the short time I’ve known him, your brother has opened my eyes to many things,” Castiel says, still smiling.

“He has?”  Sam looks smug, as if he has just uncovered some dirt on his brother.  “What kind of things?  If you don’t mind my asking.”

Dean steps in and answers before Castiel can. “Like what kind of music he likes. Sadly, it’s not Zeppelin.”

“But I do like the Lynyrd Skynyrds,” Castiel points out, then turns to Sam.  “I played most of the tapes from Sam’s box.  It was fortunate that I was sitting shotgun, since shotgun picks the music while driver shuts his cakehole.  But I’m sure you’ve heard Sam say that many times.”

Sam’s brow hikes up as he lets out an unintelligible snort.  “No, nope, no. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard my brother say that one before.”

“So Steve, how was your _date_ last night?”  Dean leans back against the car in an attempt at casual, but the words don’t come out as nonchalant.

“My…?” Castiel takes a deep breath. “Oh, yes.  It was somewhat… enlightening.  She offered me my job back at the Gas-n-Sip.”

“You gonna take it?”  Dean crosses his arms, tips his head at Castiel. “You’d be closer to her. Get to see her every day. Pick up where you left off.”

Castiel’s eyes screw up.  “You said that before, and I still don’t understand your meaning.  Nora and I are merely friends, as we were before I lost my memory.  She explained it all to me last night.”

“What?”  Sam and Dean say, almost simultaneously. Dean shoots Sam a dirty look while Sam straightens up.  Is it possible that Sam got that wrong?  How the hell could Sam have gotten that extremely important bit of information wrong?

Castiel steps closer to Dean, and Sam shifts uncomfortably, looks the other way and saunters away from the car to give them some privacy.

“There are some other things she knows about me.” Castiel’s voice is lower, softer, intended only for Dean.  “And I’d like to share them with you, Sam. Some things you might want to know.  Perhaps we can get together later?  I’ll be done here at the library in two hours.”

“Sure.” Dean uncrosses his arms, angles his body forward, closing any gap that had remained between them.  He places his mouth next to Castiel’s ear.  “Definitely, Sundance.”  He gestures toward the dream catcher Castiel still holds in both of his hands. ”That gives me enough time to dump Sasquatch over there so we can pick up some food, go back to the apartment, and find a place to hang that thing.”

“Over the bed.” Castiel says carefully. “It should be hung over the bed.”

“Right.”  Dean licks his lips.  He can’t help it.  It happens whenever Castiel gets in his personal space and looks at him this way.  “The bed.”

Castiel glances back over his shoulder at the brick building behind him, exhales heavily. “My break is long over,” he says, but he doesn’t make a move, doesn’t take his eyes off of Dean.   

“Hey, Steve, I got you some coffee.”

All three men turn toward the woman’s voice that seems to come out of nowhere.  Dean freezes when he sees Nora on the other end of the parking lot, coming towards them, a cup of coffee in each hand, hastening her pace with every step. She suddenly stops short halfway there.

“Steve, that’s him,” she calls out. “The creepy guy from the store yesterday. The one who was asking me all those questions.”  Nora raises an arm toward Sam.   “What are you doing here?  Are you stalking me?”

Sam’s jaw drops.  “No, I, uh… creepy?  Really?”

Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck. Dean feels paralyzed, helpless as Nora continues to march toward them.  He can’t hide; he can’t run.  There’s nothing he can do because in one more moment she will stop gawking at Sam and see Dean standing behind him, recognize him, tell Castiel who he is. Or at least who she thinks he is.

“Cas, Listen.”  Dean says quickly.  He has nothing to follow it with, but he wants Castiel to look at him, to focus on him and not Nora.

Castiel pushes his brows together.  “What did you call me?”

“Steve!”  Nora slows down once she is several yards away from where he and Castiel are standing too close to one another.  She smiles.  “I see you found your friend already?  That was quick!” 

It’s too late.  Nora is about to spill the beans in three, two, one…

“I never caught your name when you were here before. I’m Nora.”  She’s talking directly to Dean, but he is too confounded to reply. 

“This is Sam.”  Castiel pats Dean on the back.  “My friend from the library that I told you about.”

Nora twists her mouth, shakes her head. “No, that one is called Sam.” She gestures toward Sam with a head nod. “Or so he said,” she adds, glares at Sam before she looks at Dean.  “And I know that this one is your… well, you never would tell me, exactly, who he was to you, but it was obvious how much he meant to you Steve, that you two were very close.”  She smiles at Dean. “And evidently still are. Wait - are you telling me that your name is also Sam?”

“No,” Castiel says to her.  “You’re mistaken, Nora.  Sam and I have never met before.  He would have told me if we had, he would have…” Castiel peers at Dean.  “You would have told me, wouldn’t you Sam?”

Dean opens and closes his mouth, doesn’t say any of the things he wants to say.  He can’t give Castiel any of the answers he wants or deserves.

“You wouldn’t pretend that you’d never met me, you wouldn’t pretend that you didn’t even know…”

Dean lets his chin fall to his chest when he hears Castiel’s voice break.

“Tell me, Sam.  Tell me that you’re not that cruel.  Tell me--”

“She’s right,” Dean blurts out.  “Nora is right.  You and I have known each other for eight years.”

“Sam?”  Castiel says to Dean, then squeezes his eyes shut.  “Dean?”

Castiel smacks his hand against his own forehead. He grits his teeth in pain, and Dean grabs onto his upper arms with both hands, facing him.  “Cas, look at me. Cas!”

Castiel’s eyes open only halfway but they are clear blue through his thick, black lashes.  His lips curl up faintly with recognition and Dean smiles back at him. “Cas?”

“I knew you would find me,” Castiel breathes, and Dean thinks for one beautiful, perfect moment that everything is okay, that everything is going to be all right.

The dream catcher slips out of Castiel’s fingers. Color drains from his face as his head lolls to the side and his eyes roll up and back, then close. He collapses, and to Dean it all happens in slow motion; Castiel’s body goes limp, folds in on itself one limb at a time and tumbles forward.  Dean catches him against his chest, and Sam is right there, helps ease him down onto the pavement while Nora screams for help. 

“No!  No! Don’t do this!” Dean cries out.  He holds the unconscious man on his lap between his legs, his head resting on his thigh.  He strokes Castiel’s face along his jawline. “Cas?  Cas, wake up,” he croaks.  “You have to wake up, you have to…” Dean stops, inhales sharply and looks up at his brother. “We still have time. We still have hours, we, we still have…”

“Dean.”  Sam sinks to his knees beside Dean, rests one hand on Dean’s back, the other on Castiel's shoulder.  “No.” He speaks gently. “No, Dean, we don’t.” 


	11. Consequences

They don’t go to hospitals.  They bandage and stitch each other up, tend to their own wounds with the help of whiskey and ice, but they don’t go to hospitals unless there is no other way because, in Dean’s experience, nothing good has ever happened in a hospital. 

Dean can’t stay in one place, so he paces. Back and forth. To and fro.  Up and down the hospital hallways, while Sam sits alone in the waiting room on a bristly, uncomfortable, sofa. 

He wonders what is taking so long, whether or not the doctors have any idea that the man they are working on is much more than he appears to be, how important he is.  Maybe if they knew they would try harder.  Maybe if they knew the good things he has done, the sacrifices he has made for them, they would find a way to save him. But even if they do manage to heal his body, it doesn’t mean that they have saved the angel inside it.

For a few minutes he pauses and watches Sam from down the hall, sees him sitting silently, his face buried in his hands. Sam wants to talk, he knows, but Dean is afraid to talk about Castiel right now, worried that he may say things that he’s never said out loud.  When a woman in blue scrubs approaches Sam, Dean starts in their direction, then changes his mind and stops.  Whatever the news is, he’s not ready to hear it. He watches Sam as he stands up, engages in conversation with the doctor.  Sam is much better at these things, he always has been.  He’ll let Sam handle this part.  He just wants to know when he can see Castiel.

The doctor leaves Sam, and Sam sits back down, rests his face in his hands again. Dean goes over to him, takes a seat on the couch next to him.  

“Anything?” he asks.

Sam nods.  “She said he had a catastrophic vascular event of unknown origin.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means they don’t know what happened and they don’t know how to fix it or what damage has been done.  She said they’ve never seen anything like it before. He’s still unconscious, but he’s currently stable and breathing on his own.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck.  “Okay.  Breathing is good.  So what’s our next move?  What do we do now?”

Sam rubs his hands together.  “We wait.”

“For what?”

“A miracle, I guess.”

Dean stares at Sam, his eyes blank. “Fuck that,” he says, jumps up from the couch to his feet. 

“This is my fault,” Sam says. 

It’s not.  Dean knows that, but he doesn’t want to talk about it right now. The only thing he wants to do is see Castiel.  “When can I see him?”

“She said they’d let us know,” he says. “They’re taking him to a room now. But Dean, while we wait, we need to talk about this.  _I_ need to talk about this. I’m so sorry--”

Dean cuts his brother off.  “I’m going to see Cas,” he says as he walks off, each step heavy and deliberate.  He doesn’t know where he’s going, has no idea where the angel is, but he’ll find him. Castiel knows that he will always find him.

 ______________________________

 

Castiel looks wrong.  Some color has returned to his face, probably the result of whatever these tubes attached to him are pumping into his vessel’s veins, but it’s not the right color.  His skin is dull, almost dusty.  The crescents under his eyes are darker than ever, and the lips that have fascinated Dean since he first saw them in a barn eight years ago no longer resemble Dean’s favorite childhood bubblegum. 

An attentive nurse is adjusting Castiel’s pillow with practiced efficiency.  She checks the monitors, clears her throat when she sees Dean standing in the doorway.

“Hey Cas, there’s a lady here wondering whether or not I’m family.”  Dean steps inside the room to the bed, reaches around the side rail and slides his hand over Castiel’s.  “But I’m not going anywhere, so you wanna go ahead and tell her who I am, get her off my back for the rest of the night?”

The nurse grins at Dean, then brings her index finger to her lips.  “I won’t ask you to leave as long as he’s comfortable,” she says softly, picks up the clipboard at the bottom of the bed.  “You can stay with him all night long, talk to him if you want, as long as you do it quietly.”

“Talk to him?” Dean asks.  “I thought he couldn’t hear me.”

She shrugs.  “Do you believe he can hear you?”

“Should I?”

She scribbles something with her pen, then tucks it into her pocket and returns the chart to its post before she comes over to where Dean stands.  “Let me show you a little secret,” she says, then reaches under the bed and folds down the side rail.  “There you go.”

Dean pulls the chair by the bed closer to Castiel. Careful not to disturb anything attached to Castiel, he wraps his hand around the other man’s wrist and fits their fingers together.  He digs into his pocket for his phone with his other hand, uses his thumb to pull up the only photograph he has of Castiel; the one he took in the motel room not long before abandoning him for the second time.

He’s exhausted, but he fights it.  He doesn’t even know if Castiel is still in there, but he’s going to stay until he finds out.  Whatever happens, he’s not going to leave him here again.

 ______________________________

_There’s light outside.  It shatters the comfort of the darkness, and he’s not happy to see it. He doesn’t want morning to come, doesn’t want this new day to begin. He hates the decisions he’s made, hates himself more for making them.  He knows what he has to do, but the thought of leaving Castiel alone here, in Rexford, not knowing if he will ever see Dean again or understanding why, is crushing his heart and making it hard to breathe.  But if Castiel asks to go back to the bunker with him and he has to tell him no, if he has to say it out loud, he may very well break._

_Castiel sighs in his sleep, turns onto his side, facing him, but doesn’t open his eyes. He tucks his bandaged hand under his chin.  Dean slides off of the bed and settles onto his knees, leans over the mattress where he had been sitting. As hard as it will be to leave, he’s glad that he came, because he has learned some things. Important things, like Gas-n-Sip taquitos are delicious and he is in love with his best friend in a way he never thought himself capable of._

_“It’s you, Cas,” he whispers.  “It’s you, buddy, it’s always been you.  I can’t say it now, for reasons.  Good reasons, and some not so good reasons.  But someday I’m gonna tell you, and then I’m gonna kiss the shit out of those goddamn lips of yours.  Someday, I’ll be able to do it.  I promise you.”_

______________________________

There are buzzers and alarms going off, loud voices all around him.  Someone pulls at his arm, yanks him off of his chair.

“You have to go,” Nurse says, pushing him out the door and into Sam.  When he looks back he cannot see Castiel, only the people surrounding him, working frantically from his bedside.

Sam puts his arm around Dean’s shoulder and ushers him down the hall away from Castiel’s room and into another small nearby waiting area. Dean is too dazed to resist. Nora and Maggie are there, look like they have been for a while.  Sam gives them a nearly imperceptible headshake as he sets Dean down onto a chair.  Nora says something about getting coffee and both women stand. 

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” Sam says. Nora nods, squeezes Sam’s shoulder on the way out of the room.

“What happened?”  Dean presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”

“It’s okay Dean.”  Sam tries to soothe him.   “Whatever’s happened, it happened suddenly.  There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Dean feels the muscles in his neck tighten as he drags his hand through his hair, grabs a fistful and tugs. 

“Nora thought I was hitting on her hard yesterday,” Sam says.  “So she made up the stuff about her long term relationship with Steve to get rid of me.”

“Huh,” Dean says.  He’s not all that interested in having this conversation.

“I had to tell her some things,” Sam admits. “About you and Cas. To, you know, explain without explaining too much.”

“Huh.” 

“Dean.” Sam says his name solemnly then stops, forcing Dean to listen to him before he continues.  “This is my fault.  I shouldn’t have interfered.  I shouldn’t have come here and spoken with Nora.”

When he sees his brother’s face, his downturned eyes and slackened jaw, he recognizes, for the first time, how deeply his brother is hurting too, that Dean is not the only one grieving here.

“This isn’t your fault, Sam,” Dean reassures. It’s true.

“Maybe if I hadn’t come, you and Cas would’ve—“

“It goes back farther than that, Sam. I know what happened to the Mark of Cain.  Well at least some of it.  What I was conscious for anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hannah gave me back my memory.  The missing hours.  Cas came back to the bunker, and he had his grace. But instead of fueling himself back up, he used it on me somehow.  To get rid of the Mark.”

Sam jerks his head back.  “How?”

“I don’t know.”  Dean scowls at the memory.  “He knocked me out because I wasn’t exactly on board.  All I know is that he used it, all of it, to save me.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I think he must’ve clean-slated us both so we wouldn’t know.”  Dean mimics Castiel’s two-finger forehead tap.  “Kind of a dick move, even for Cas.”

Sam nods once.  “Maybe he had to, Dean.  Maybe he had no choice.”

That makes sense, actually, now that Sam points it out. There’s one way he can find out for sure.

“Dean, if you want to sleep some more, you can lay down on that couch and I’ll wake you up as soon as we hear anything,” Sam offers.

The couch.  Sleep.  Dean looks at the clock on the wall, then his watch before it hits him.  He should’ve realized sooner what was going on. He should’ve known exactly what was happening in Castiel’s hospital room.

“It’s just after midnight!” he bellows at Sam.

“Uh, yeah.  It’s late.” 

He has to speak to Hannah.  Now. 

“Hit me Sam.”

“What?”

“I need to see Hannah.  And I need you to knock me out.”

“No, Dean.  If you can’t get to sleep, I’m sure we can get you some pills—“

Dean’s desperate, that much is clear, but Sam still doesn’t seem to be grasping the sheer urgency of the situation. “There’s no time for that, Sam. You have to punch me right in my goddamn face!”

“No, I can’t.  What if I—“

“You can say no to me after this until the end of time,” Dean growls.  “But you’ve got to do this, and you’ve got to do it now!”

“Dean…” Sam whines his brother's name as he rears his fist back and closes his eyes.

“Do it,” Dean spits out.  “You’d better do this for me you chicken-shit son of a—“


	12. Hospital

The place looks pretty much the same as it did before, yet it feels different.  It’s strangely vacant, no one else is there, except, of course, for Castiel. Dean can see him only in profile, his hips leaning into the jukebox as he makes his selection.  It’s darker inside than he remembers, but the jukebox lights Castiel’s face perfectly. Castiel clutches a bottle of beer in one hand, pokes at the buttons with the other until his chosen song begins to play – _Freebird_ , again. He doesn’t seem to notice Dean standing by the bar, watching him, when he begins to move with the music, just as he did last time they were here.  This is going to be a good dream.

“Finally, thank goodness.”  Hannah appears out of nowhere, as she always does. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep and we need very much to talk.”

He doesn’t bother to look at Hannah, because looking at Castiel is better.  He’d rather not waste any precious dream time with Hannah when Castiel is waiting for him. He wants to go to him, finish what they very nearly started here, find out what might have happened had he not, for once, screwed everything up. 

Castiel needs a cowboy hat. When this is over, he’s getting Castiel a cowboy hat.

“It’s not him, Dean.  It’s only an image of him manifested in your mind.  He’s not really here, and neither are you.”

He’s disappointed, even though he already knows what she’s saying.  Still, he’d hoped that Castiel had found his way into his dream.  “I know this is a dream, this ain’t my first rodeo, sister," Dean snaps at her.

Hannah furrows her brow, confused.  “No, you’re in a hospital.  With Castiel.  And he’s in trouble.  You know he’s in trouble, and that’s why you--”

“I remember,” Dean cuts her off, just as Castiel looks up from the jukebox and sees him.  Castiel smiles at him, then waves his hand, motions for him to join him. Dean nods and waves back before facing Hannah.

“Did you take him?  At midnight?  Is that what was going on in his room?  Is he in Heaven now?”

“He is not,” she says, head lowered. “Castiel is…resisting. He refuses to leave his body.”

“Huh.”  Stubborn son of a bitch, Dean thinks, then looks back at dream Castiel. “Well, good for him.”

“Not good for him, Dean.  The vessel is damaged beyond human capacity for repair. Even if it were to somehow survive, it would never function fully.  And then, only as long as the grace lasts.”

“Then fix him.”

“You know I cannot.  What has occurred, it’s precisely what you were warned about.”

Dean crosses his arms in front of him, tucks his hands beneath them.  “If he goes to Heaven, he’s gonna die anyway.  You said it yourself, whatever grace he has left in him will eventually putter out. So he might as well stay with me.” Dean shrugs dismissively. “It doesn’t matter how damaged he is.  I’ll take care of him.”

“He will not die in Heaven.”

She has Dean’s full attention now.  “But his grace.  He used it all on me, didn’t he?  To destroy the Mark.”

“That is true.”  Hannah agrees.  “However, we’ve found a way to infuse him with small amounts of grace donated by other angels.  And since the recovery of Heaven, the formation of the Council, and the introduction of new concepts of order, thanks to Castiel, there is no shortage of angels willing to do so. It’s uncertain how it will affect his abilities, but that will be of no matter once he is home.”

“And he can never come back?”

“No,” she says.  “I’m afraid he can never come back.”

“What about my dreams?  He’ll still be able to walk my dreams, though, won’t he?”

Hannah shakes her head.  “I’m sorry.”

Dean hisses through gritted teeth, kicks the nearest barstool.  “Why are you telling me this?”

“The tether.  It’s become a hindrance.”

He feels a chill along his face, up and down his cheek and over his eye.  It’s cold and sharp and makes him shiver.  He shakes it off.

“You know, if you guys had even the slightest understanding of humanity, like Cas does, maybe things would be a helluva lot different in Heaven.”

“You’re not wrong, Dean.  And things _are_ changing.  Remember, I spent quite a bit of time with Castiel while you were…”  She pauses, lowers her voice.  “Indisposed.”

The chill is back, mixed with a biting pain, like an icy smack in the face.  His eyes shoot open, one more than the other, due to swelling, and all he can see is Sam’s concerned face staring down at him while he holds a cold compress over his left eye.

He knocks Sam’s hand away and jumps up from the scratchy couch.  Sam must have placed him there after laying him out with his right hook.  

“How long was I out?”

“I don’t know.  Ten, twelve minutes, maybe?  Long enough for me to steal this.”  He holds up the compress.  “Dean, you okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer him, just makes his way to Castiel’s room.  Sam follows him, but he doesn’t care.  He’s done hiding things from Sam, especially this.

 ______________________________

 

The door is open, but when he goes to step inside, he’s met with a firm hand on his chest, pushing him away.  It’s the nurse. 

“You can’t come in here,” she says, her voice low but stern. “No one can be in here now.”

Dean looks over her shoulder, behind her, but he can’t see anything, not even Castiel because the curtain between his bed and the door has been drawn, concealing him.  “Please. I have to see him.”

“He’s had a setback,” Nurse informs him, but her resolve seems to soften when she takes him in, reads his face.  “He won’t know you’re there.”  She tries to assure him.  “He’s not…”

Dean can read faces too, and he knows she wants to let him in.  “What? He’s what?”

“I’m not supposed to…medical information, it’s confidential and…”  She leans forward and looks down the hall, both ways, then up at Sam.

It takes a moment for Sam to get it, but when he does, he excuses himself.  “Dean, I’ll be down the hall, okay?”

Dean nods once and Sam leaves them. Nurse takes Dean’s hand and pulls him into the room, pushes the door closed.  “You’re Steven’s…?”

“Cas.  His name is Cas.  And yes. I am.” 

Nurse takes a deep breath, bites down on her bottom lip.  “The doctors, no one quite knows what’s going on with him.  Not really.  By all accounts, he shouldn’t be alive, and yet…” 

“I need to talk to him.”

“He’s not conscious, and his brain activity has been –“

“I believe he can hear me,” Dean says, and the nurse grins when he says it.  “I know he can.”

“All right,” she says, her decision made. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“Alone?” Dean asks.

“I can’t leave you in here alone.  But, I _do_ have to go get some warm blankets down the hall.” she says. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t touch anything,” she warns, then slips out the door, lets it shut behind her.

There are more tubes and wires attached to Castiel now than there were before, more things that make clicking and beeping sounds as Castiel breathes in and out, as his heart continues to pump steadily.

Dean releases the side rail latch and moves it down and out of the way, as the nurse had shown him earlier.  He wants nothing to come between them anymore.

“Hey, Sundance.  I hope you don’t mind that I call you that.  I like it.  It suits you, because you, you’ve always been this sort of bright, indestructible light for me and Sam for a long time now.  I wish we had more time, but we don’t.  I’m not sure we can rightfully complain about it, considering just how many second chances we’ve each been given, how many opportunities we’ve had to fix our mistakes.  But for some reason, the one thing we never managed to put right was you and me.  Us.  And I don’t think I’m gonna live another day without regretting that, Cas, but I made a promise to you, last time we were right here, in Rexford.  I didn’t remember it.  I think I buried it in the back of my head, because it just hurt too much to think about it.  Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that.  But I remember now.” 

Dean pushes Castiel’s hair away from his face, lets his fingers brush through it a few times.  His throat starts to burn and tighten, so he swallows hard. He still has a few more things to say.

“This is where I realized.  This is where I finally figured out exactly what it was I’d been feeling in my goddamned soul.”

Dean slides his hand out of Castiel’s hair and down the side of his face, settles it along his jaw.  He bows over the bed, brings his face to Castiel’s. He wishes Castiel was awake, wishes he could look into the eyes that have always managed to stir and calm him at the same time.  “It’s you, Cas,” he says.  “It’s always been you.”

And then he kisses him.  He holds Castiel’s face with both hands and presses their mouths together. This is so different, doesn’t compare to anything he’s ever done with dream Castiel, because this is real. The minty taste of balm on Castiel’s lips is real. The raised bumps forming on Dean's skin are real, and the violent tremble coursing through his body is very, very real.  

Castiel’s lips are more chapped than usual, but they are still as full and yielding as they were when he had touched them. He licks them with the tip of his tongue, pulls the bottom one gently into his mouth before he pulls away.

Nothing changes.  He didn’t really expect it would, but the child in him hoped for something, for some fairytale miracle. He sighs, pulls the chair close to the bed and sits.  He rests his palm flat against Castiel’s chest so he can feel the unwavering pounding within.

“Now here comes the hard part,” Dean says. “You can’t stay here anymore, Cas. If you stay, you’re gonna die. You probably don’t care. You’re probably being stubborn just on principle alone.  But I do. I don’t want you to die, even if that means I might never see you again.  So you have to let go now, man.  Let them take you back to Heaven and grace you up.  Hannah will be there, she’ll take care of you. So go.  Be an angel.  Do it for me.”

Dean pushes himself closer to the bed, closes his eyes and rests his head on Castiel, next to his hand.  “You and me, we’re all good.  And I probably need someone in heaven to put in a few good words for me, ‘cause soon enough I’ll be finished down here and I’m gonna come find you, even if I have to fight my way up that stairway.”

He’s done talking, but he stays like that, doesn’t move while he listens to Castiel's human heart. His face hurts. There's a bump on his cheek that throbs, and his darkening eye stings, but the double thump of each beat soothes him, relieves the pain and brings unexpected peace.  Maybe he’ll fall asleep, find his way back to that dive bar in Montana.

“Damn you, Dean Winchester!” 

Dean’s eyes pop open.  It’s Nurse, yelling at him.  At least it _looks_ like the nurse, standing at the foot of the bed, holding a book in her hand, but it sure as hell doesn’t _sound_ like the nurse. 

“What?”  Dean lifts his head, narrows his eyes.  “How do you know my name?”

She shakes her head, tosses the book on the bed by Castiel's feet. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she says. 

Dean glances over at it, sees the author's name, Nicholas Sparks, on the cover, then looks back at the nurse.

“What the--” he tries to ask, but the question never makes it out.  Nurse comes at him with two raised fingers aimed at his forehead, and that is the last thing Dean sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was supposed to be the last chapter, but it just didn't work out that way. I have very little (or absolute) control over these matters. One last tiny little cliff hanger...


	13. Philosophy

He sees Castiel standing by the window. There’s a light shining through the glass, and it hits Castiel just right, illuminates the sheerness of his thin cotton johnny gown.

“You’re naked under there,” Dean muses. It makes Castiel drop his chin and grin.

He’s not sure why he is lying in Castiel’s hospital bed and Castiel is not, except that he feels sluggish and this is probably a dream. He touches his cheek to make sure. No pain.  “Is that really you Cas?”  Dean asks as he pulls himself up to a sitting position.

“I never _want_ to forget you, Dean,” Castiel says.  “Always know that.”

Dean’s not quite sure what that means, but it sounds a lot like goodbye.  Dean tries to jump out of the bed because this is Castiel, the real Castiel, but he’s so tired, and the side rail gets in his way.  He reaches over and jerks the latch, pushes the rail down, and stumbles out of it, but it’s too late.

Castiel is gone.

 ______________________________

 

“Clear your mind, Dean.”  Nurse grabs hold of his arm and guides him back to the hospital bed. Dean doesn’t resist her.  He sits on the edge of it, but he’s wide awake now.  Or as awake as he can be while still sleeping.

“Is he gone?”  Dean asks.  “Is Castiel gone?”

“You must stop dreaming and rest now,” Nurse says.

“I don’t want to.”

“I can see that.”

Dean looks up with narrowed eyes, as if he will see something if he looks closely enough.  “Is something happening?”

“Yes, Dean."

“What?  What’s happening?  And who are you? Are you Hannah?”

“I am,” Hannah answers with the nurse’s voice. “The Council is in discussion. The results of the trial are in dispute, and they are... reconsidering.  Castiel is with them now.”

Dean screws up his face.  “The results of the trial?  So it _was_ a test?”

“In a way.”

“Did he pass?”

Hannah shakes her head, drops her hands to her hips. “You truly are an obtuse one, aren’t you.”

Dean wants to be offended.  “No, _you’re_  an obtuse one, you're an obtuse... What do you mean?”

Hannah folds Nurses hands together in front of her. “ _You_ were the one being tested, Dean.  Not Castiel."

“What?  Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I didn’t know, at first, about any of it,” she explains. “Only that Castiel had agreed to some kind of arrangement.  And then when I found out, I did try to tell you, in my way.  But I had to be careful.  There are rules--”

“Right.”  Dean gestures toward her vessel.  “Because you’re so concerned about the rules, Nurse Jackie.”

“Yes, well, there will be consequences for my actions.” Hannah smoothes her hand over Nurse's scrubs. “Things are changing up there Dean.  The fact that they are even considering allowing Castiel to stay on earth is nothing less than monumental.”

“So what did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“To make them reconsider.  What did you do?”

“Why do you think I did anything?”

“Because I broke Cas’s head, even after you warned me,” Dean states.  “There’s no way I passed any kind of angel test.”

She sighs, responds reluctantly. “It took me a while, but I see now, Dean Winchester, why Castiel feels the way he does about you. Why he wants to feel at all.”

“But you’re only one vote.”

Hannah sits down on the mattress beside Dean. “For the most part, angels have difficulty understanding human things, especially this thing you call true love. But with the words of your great philosopher, Nicholas Sparks, more specifically, with the help of a passage from one of his books, I was able to assist the Council.”

“The great philosopher who now?”

“Nicholas Sparks.  You’re the one who advised me of his work, Dean. Fortunately, the nurses’ lounge has an entire shelf dedicated to his writings.”

“I don’t know what you’re--”  He bites back the rest of his words when he recalls what he had said to her.  It was a joke, a quip he made out of frustration, he starts to explain.

Hannah shakes her head and holds up her hand, puts her finger to her mouth.  Her eyes dart around the room.  She’s listening, Dean presumes, to angel radio, to something from Heaven. 

“What is it?”

“No more questions,” she says, a sad smile on Nurse’s pleasant, round face.  She reaches over and pets his cheek, compelling Dean to sleep within his sleep.

 ______________________________

 

There’s a hand in his hair.  It’s gentle but sure, massaging tenderly, then sifting through the short strands, winding them around long, nimble fingers. It feels nice, comforting, and Dean moans in appreciation.

“He’s waking up.”

Dean knows his brother’s voice, and he squints, peeks through tiny slits to see Sam and Nurse looking down at him from the foot of Castiel’s bed.

“Shhh,” a voice behind him whispers. “Allow him to sleep.”

He knows that voice too.  Dean’s eyes fly open.  He raises his head abruptly from Castiel’s chest, winces when his cheek rubs against Castiel’s blankets.

It hurts.

Dean turns to look at Castiel.  The tubes and lines and wires that had been attached to him are gone.  He sits semi-upright in the hospital bed, appears amused at Dean’s reaction.  Dean reaches up, tentatively touches Castiel’s face with his hand, then moves it slowly down his neck, across his shoulders and over his chest, assessing, deciding whether or not he can believe that this is real.

“Stop,” Sam says, moves toward his brother, ready to pull him away. “We have to talk first--”

Castiel waves him off.  “It’s all right.”  

Dean stands slowly.  Using both hands, he continues to press and prod, feels his way down Castiel’s body, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Careful now,” Castiel says when Dean’s hands ease down his flank and past his hip.  “I’m naked under here.”

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, grabs Castiel by the shoulders.  “Cas,” he exhales, barely gets it out.  All he can think about is kissing him.  Here. Now.  In front of everyone, anyone.  All he can think about is crushing their mouths together so they can finally take what they’ve been denied, what they’ve earned, what is rightfully theirs.  

“Easy.”  Sam lays his hand on Dean’s back.  “He’s not quite--”

“What did you call me?”  Castiel cants his head.  “Is that my name, Sam?  Is my real name Cas?”

Dean hops off of the bed, steps backward. “You don’t remember?” He turns around and faces Sam. “He doesn’t remember?”

Sam squeezes Dean’s shoulder and says nothing, but he doesn’t need to.  The tight line of his mouth is answer enough.

 ______________________________

 

“I don’t think I can do this.  Not again.”  Dean sinks into the couch in the waiting room.  “What, happened?  Did they take his memory away again?  Do they think this is some kind of game?”

Sam pushes his hands deep into his pockets. “Hannah said it was the only way. Dean, we’re lucky he’s even alive, let alone here.”

“Is he human?  Did they take that away from him too?”

Sam nods. “They had no choice.  He would have died, otherwise.  They healed him, then removed the last of the grace before sending him back.”

“So he’s amnesia Steve again?  Is that it?”

“Basically.  As far as his memory goes.”

“A stranger.”

“No, Dean, not a stranger.  He’s Castiel.  No matter what name you call him, that’s Cas in there. Couldn’t you feel that? During these last few days you’ve spent with him, couldn’t you tell?”

Dean covers his mouth with his hand, closes his eyes. He’s right.  Seems like Sam’s always been right when it comes to his feelings for Castiel.  Sam hunkers down in front of him. 

“Dean, listen.  Just because he doesn’t remember, it doesn’t change what you two have been through.  It doesn’t change how you feel, and to be honest, I’m pretty sure that man in there, regardless of who he thinks he is, feels the same way about you.”

Dean slaps his thighs and stands, steps toward the hallway.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“To talk to Hannah.”

“She’s gone.  She’s not inside the nurse anymore.  She had to go back, but she left something for you. She said you’d know why.”

Sam squats down and unzips his backpack, pulls out a book and hands it to Dean.

Dean takes it, rolls his eyes when he sees what it is. A novel by Nicholas Sparks. He opens it to the page that has been marked by a tongue depressor.

“What does it say?” Sam asks.

“I can’t.”  He shoves the book at Sam.  “You do it.”

Sam clears his throat, opens the book and reads the highlighted paragraph aloud. “’I finally understood what true love meant...love meant that you care for another person's happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be.’”

Sam twists his mouth, closes the book.

“Fuck,” Dean says after several wordless moments. “My life is a fucking chick flick.”

 ______________________________

 

The first time is in Castiel’s tiny apartment, on the less than comfortable sofa bed, beneath the dream catcher. 

“I remember this,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s ear while Dean touches him, caresses him with one hand, strokes him purposefully with the other.

“We’ve never done this before,” Dean whispers back.

“I mean, I remember _wanting_ this.  I remember imagining this, wishing for it until it was too painful to think about any more.”

 _Me too,_ Dean thinks.  He brings one hand to Castiel’s mouth, rubs his thumb across his lips.  “We can have it now,” he tells him.  “We can have it all, now.”

 ______________________________

****

**_One month later_ **

 

“I remember something else, Dean.”

“Oh yeah?”  Castiel looks pretty damn hot in the cowboy hat Dean bought for him.  He’s really taken to the cowboy thing, which Dean never would have predicted, but sure as hell can get behind.  Maybe when they retire they'll move to Montana, get a couple of horses, ride them into the sunset.

They’re in Montana now, on an extended trip. They’re on their way to Rufus's old cabin, but they’ve stopped at that dive bar outside of Yellowstone. It’s a couple hours out of the way, but Dean’s pretty sure it’ll be worth the delay.

At least now their names are all straight. Cas is Cas and Dean is Dean and Sam is Sam again.  That alone makes everything easier.  Shortly after the night on the sofa bed, Castiel began to remember more things; some big things, like what the Winchesters do for a living, and some little things, like Dean’s love of pie.  Dean believes that in his defiance, Castiel somehow found a way of stowing his memories, burying them deep within himself and hidden from the angels who tried to take them from him and throw them away. 

Someday, probably sooner than later, Castiel will remember what he was.  Chances are, he’ll eventually remember things that he did, things that Dean has done; things that Dean would rather they forget forever.  It will hurt him, both of them, but Dean will be there to fill in the blanks. They can’t rewrite their history, so they’ll work their way through it, together, for a second time.

Castiel has already been to the jukebox and made his selections, and Dean enjoys watching him do that so much he mentally tries to figure out where they could possibly fit one in Castiel’s apartment.

“I remember a place called the bunker,” Castiel discloses. “It’s quite large, partially underground, and has very good water pressure.  Is that a place I’ve been to?  Is that where you and Sam live?”

Dean reaches across the table, folds his hand over Castiel’s.  “Yes. And when you’re ready to leave Rexford and I get back to hunting, that’s where we’ll live.  Together.”

“That sounds wonderful, Dean.” 

Dean smiles.  There’s plenty of room for a jukebox in the bunker.

When _Freebird_ comes on, Dean acts surprised, and Castiel just laughs and shrugs, raises his bottle and offers a toast to the ‘Lynyrd Skynyrds.’  Dean points to Castiel’s beer.  “That’s gotta be your last one if you want to drive Baby tonight, Cas.”

“I’m afraid the sober ship has sailed,” Castiel hums. “Besides, I much prefer the shotgun position. As you say, shotgun picks the music, and driver shuts his cakehole.”  Castiel winks at Dean, takes another swig.

“Yeah.  Well about that,” Dean starts to correct him.  “That’s not exactly how…”

“What is it, Dean?  Did I get it wrong?”  Castiel grins sloppily, happily, and it's the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen.

“No, Sundance,” Dean says.  Maybe some history _can_ be rewritten.  “You got it right.  You got it absolutely right.” 


End file.
